


Unexpected

by ashion



Series: Upheaval - No Regrets [1]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Alpha Trion being his usual nosey yet mysterious self, Familial Relationships, Ironhide x Optimus, Movie verse AU, Parent Ironhide, exploration of culture/child rearing, fluffy stuff, kid to adult Optimus, reference to/description of dead babies (hatchlings)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashion/pseuds/ashion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working as a guard on a large historical dig site and bored out of his processor, Ironhide will gain more than just a little perspective on things past and how his own future will be irreversibly changed. For the better or worse.</p><p>*Prequal to Upheaval</p><p>**See profile for hiatus updates**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set long before the TF movies and the war, but will eventually lead into those events.
> 
> Below are my own time cycle and age milestone interpretations for this AU.  
> \- - - - - - - - - - - -  
> Speech:  
> Talking - “blah”  
> Comm. - :: blah ::
> 
> Distance:  
> Quartex – 1.5 km
> 
> Time:  
> Nano-klik - 1 second roughly  
> Kilk - 1.2 minutes  
> Breem - 8 minutes  
> Joor - 1 hour  
> Orn - 1 Cybertronian day (3 earth days)  
> Cycle – 1 month (2.5 earth months)  
> Meta-Cycle - 13 Cybertronian months  
> Deca-Cycle - 1 Cybertronian year = 26 months  
> Vorn - 83 years
> 
> Age:  
> Hatchling – 0 - 1 deca-cycle  
> Mechling – 1 deca-cycle - 1 vorn  
> Youngling – 1 vorn - 5 vorns  
> Young adult – 6 vorns – 10 vorns  
> Adult – 11 vorns+

With a loud frustrated shunt of heated air through his vents, Ironhide resumes the course he has been patrolling for the last 4 orns.

 

He, along with 4 others, have been assigned to this excavation team from the science and historical division of Iacon as security guards. Basic routine of guard and protect the expedition team from threats both seen and unseen. Despite the area itself being considered a dead zone, long abandoned and corroding, situated a good 6 orn land based hike from his home city of Tyger Pax that didn’t mean there weren’t dangers to be had.

 

No mech in his right CPU would come out here without prior surveillance and weapons. It may appear to be a quiet desolate ruin, but there had been reports of some of the Allspark's feral creations stalking the area; scuttlers, frame-eaters, rust-burrowers are just some of the names used for them.

 

Little is known about exactly when they were created or their original function amongst Cybertrons relatively limited range of drone like fauna and various silicate and crystal based flora. Some believed them to simply be opportunistic scavengers there to help maintain the surface structures by clearing up decaying matter and help manage the population of other creatures but anyone who had the displeasure of seeing some of the largest incarnations of them in action believed them to be dangerous predators and a menace.

 

The creatures themselves, like many of the other fauna, are relatively small ranging from 2 to 6ft in length. These particular creatures sport simple segmented bodies usually pock marked and stained dark ruddy colours to blend in with their surrounds. Multiple spindly 3 joint legs varying in length and configuration between types allow for fast sharp movement and scaling of various surfaces though have shown to be of very low in intelligence. Their overall behavior tending towards animalistic instinct and almost hive mind like movements.

 

The danger factor from them came in the fact they moved in packs of a handful to several hundred individuals and could pile up and look like a lump of rubble or slip down and hide in cracks and natural seams in the planet’s surface. Though they generally stayed to the unpopulated areas the smaller varieties were known to occasionally nest in the lower planes of outer city areas around the cities that shared borders with empty zones. If an unfortunate mech stumbled across a nest of the small variety they’d come away with some nasty bites and tears in the plating and protoform, but if they were to wander into a decent sized nest of the large ones, and was unarmed, their chances of getting out a live were slim. Fast and voracious they attack in waves employing sawing denta, pincers and powerful corroding chemicals to weaken and bore their way through light outer armor to get at vital fluids and the slightly softer metal of the nutrient rich protoform underneath. If they didn’t kill a mech outright they would leave him with debilitating injuries.

 

That's why he and his team are here. Regularly scout the area to make sure the scientists are well guarded from such dangers along with any rogue mecha that may be scouring the area for valuable salvage. Though they can do nothing for the inherent physical underlying dangers of such a degraded zone.

 

The ground structure itself had already proven to be as incredibly unstable as early surveys had warned. Warnings that were ultimately acknowledged, but mostly set aside in favor of the expedition going ahead as planned. They had already experienced one near miss last orn when a small section near where they were excavating had collapsed. Thankfully no one had been damaged, aside from a few minor dents and scrapes.

 

Surveying the area in wide arcing sweeps he notes how unnervingly silent it is in both audial and energy sensory fields compared to the constant background noise of populated areas. The site supposedly dates to just before the great cataclysm some 8,500 vorns past. He’s heard the stories of the original 7 Primes and the Great War between them and one of their own who had turned his back on their values in pursuit of taking the Allspark and all its power. It was said the once Prime - stripped of his very name and now only known as _The Fallen_ \- fought his brothers for complete control and wrought a genocidal massacre upon their kind that purportedly brought their entire people towards the edge of extinction. All in the name of his overwhelming greed and need for power.

 

The stories say that the seven generations of spark-split offspring of the great Primes were hunted down and murdered by the Fallen's army along with any who sought to fight against him and refuse his rule. Even those who sought to stay neutral and uninvolved in the conflict weren’t spared. Allegedly well over three quarters of Cybertron’s relatively small population and large swaths of land that once contained flourishing cities and small towns were lost during the 100 vorn long war taking with it all early all records of Cybertron’s history, leaving very little behind. Some said the first Primes sacrificed themselves to hide the power of the Matrix from their insane brother finally stalling all his plans bring the end to the war and their true lineage with it. Others believed the remaining first 6 lived on, out there somewhere amongst the vastness of space and were simply waiting for the time when they would return with the Matrix, reunite it with the Allspark and bring Cybertron back to the glory of its past.

 

Little solid factual information had been gathered thus far to thoroughly prove or disprove these stories of near extinction wrought by this now nameless Prime and his brethren. The basic structures of a civilization passed still existed in crumbling wasteland areas like this where habitation was a near impossibility, but any forms of legible written history were incredibly rare finds. To Ironhide, the stories of the war and the destruction could well be true given the lay of the empty zones and the evidence of a civilization past, but the idea the Primes being great beings, almost god like and the evil monster that was the Fallen in stories were just that. Stories. Fanciful little tales told to hatchlings and younglings by their guardians to entertain and sometimes used as a means of scaring them into behaving.

 

He could fondly remembers his own guardian frequently using the story of the wicked Fallen coming in the darkest part of the orn to snatch up badly behaving young and spiriting them away to the nightmarish sub-dimension he had been banished to where they would be his eternal slaves in attempts to scare him straight. It never really worked and only saw to him testing his guardian even further much to the poor mechs chagrin. He'd been a restless, boundary pushing, rowdy little pain in the aft back then and for the most part still is now.

 

His canons twitch and roll a few times with audible clicks and whirs. Internal mechanisms flick, hiss and whine with the itch to shoot something. Anything! Just to break this monotonous boredom and nerve rending sense of isolation. But he has already been warned that the area is volatile. Full of uncharted tunnels and catacombs amongst the smatterings of 100 quartex high mountain like jagged pinnacles containing pit knows what, that could easily cause a massive ground collapse if disturbed, so firing off a couple of low charge rounds isn't an option.

 

Seeing the same near rough monochromatic area sparsely pock marked and scored all over with collapsed holes and spires of ugly, ragged planes and crumbling beams clawing towards the skies like the talons of some long dead beast, over and over is driving his CPU up the proverbial wall. He is a military mech, a mech of action and tactics. Not a slagging youngling sitter to a bunch of pathetic, thin plated science nuts! He is seriously second guessing why he let his team commander talk him into this assignment.

 

Another irritated huff slips from the dark mech as he rolls and stretches each shoulder, gears and cables softly popping and creaking. Shifting his bulk from side to side to loosen up his stiff legs the layers of grit and rocks under his peds grinds, cracks and screeches in protest momentarily culling the silence.

 

:: _Hardtop to Ironhide._ ::

 

:: _Ironhide here. There a problem?_ ::

 

A little spike of excitement curls through his spark. He might finally have something to do!

 

:: _Just had a minor tunnel collapse. One of the old historians, Theta Trion, is trapped, but says he’s fine. Almost have him out already, a joor at most. Got a report from Raze, there's been some audible rumbling and level 2 ground tremors in his area to the south. You got anything?_ ::

 

Wide range sensory scans pop, mapping his surrounds looking for anomalies like vibrations or unusual movement. He is about to report back in the negative when a thunderous rumble causes the ground to shudder violently. Rocks and pebbles dance wildly around his peds with the near sustained vibrations, nearby structures loudly groaning and shucking off layers of dust and chunks of corroded shale.

 

Stumbling back under the onslaught, Ironhide fights to keep his equilibrium in check as a part of the decayed ruins close by splits open and collapses in on itself with a screeching moan of decayed metal and audible whump of displaced air sending a vast thick plume of reddish-grey dust and rotted metal powder billowing into the atmosphere. Spreading his arms for balance Ironhide quickly skips backs away from the new tear in the ground and cloud of dust to hopefully more solid ground.

 

Through the audial shredding clamor he can hear Hardtop yelling through the comm. line.

 

:: _Ironhide. Ironhide! Report!_ ::

 

:: _Keep ya skid plate on. I’m fine! Level 5 tremor in the west sector. 17.38 nano-klik duration, 48.19, 66.91 epicenter, with structural collapse._ ::

 

Scoping out the area again he finds what he thought was a patch of solid, debris littered ground has developed sizeable cracks, large portions sunken almost 3 feet into the ground. The sensors in his feet and legs continue to pick up deep level rolling vibrations driving him to move back a few more paces.

 

:: _Hardtop, I’m still registerin’ deep vibrations. This place clearly been givin’ me false readin’s of stability an solidity an it’s already dropped a chunk a ground. I don’t wanna be here when it decides to drop anymore. I’m moving out back to the main site._ ::

 

:: _Right, you’re clear to move. I’ve forwarded to Striker and Raze your movements. They’re coming in too. We will discuss the continuation of this expedition once all are accounted for. Hardtop, out._ ::

 

Setting the comm. link to idle, filtering basic data on real time locations of each member of the party, Ironhide scrutinizes his surroundings one last time plotting a course that will skirt the largest portion of the both raised and hidden structures on his way back to the main camp while keeping travel time to a minimum. Last thing he wants is to have the ground drop out from under him while traveling in alt mode, pit knows what he could end up stuck in or how big a potential drop awaited.

 

Turning to leave, several odd scrapping noises in the settling quiet drive him to stop mid motion. Cannons shifting to stand-by he holds his position, scans bursting around him, nasal plating twitching and sampling the thin air for the telltale signs of those vicious little rust-burrowers. His sensors are met with a reading that leaves his CPU reeling in confusion.

 

It isn’t the distinct acrid scent of putrefied energon and burnt coolant one associates with predatory behavior of the rust-burrowers, but something else. Tuning his audios more sharply he listens intently for movement, body primed and ready for an attack or the need to run should the ground giveaway. Sudden soft taps against his lower leg armor sees him spinning around cannons pointed down ready to fire… only to freeze in place.

 

There at his feet, standing on long thin legs, spindly arms clutched tightly to its delicate, shivering frame is a hatchling. The nutrient gel from its pod, liberally coated in metal dust, clinging to its thin minimalist plating. Wide golden optics look intently up at him almost as if waiting for something.

 

All the dark mech can do is dumbly stare back, his processor nearly locking up at the sight. There is a newly born hatchling standing out here in the middle of a empty zone and it's looking at him like it expects him to do something. Logically this should not be possible.

 

Resetting his optics a few times while his CPU rights itself he tucks his canons away watching as the little things bright optics intently track the movement as the canon parts split, fold and shift into their holding areas. Once out of sight its attention quickly turns back to his glowing blue optics, keenly watching with sharp scrutiny.

 

Golden optics flitting across his features then his frame. Its uncontrolled faint energy field gradually expands, swirling and flitting around, tendrils of energy barely touching against his. Each unrestrained fleeting brush emphasizes the sense of searching, of needing something from him leaving the big mech highly confused, yet unconsciously accepting of the questing little brushes allowing each subsequent fumbling touch deeper within his own field.

 

His vocalizer flicks and resets a few times before the words finally emerge.

 

“Ah…err…Hello there little one. Where did… what are ya doin’ out here?”

 

Ironhide immediately wants to smack his head into a wall for his stupidity. It is a hatchling, it can’t answer him. Chances are it barely has the CPU development and connectivity to understand what he is saying to begin with.

 

The question of where it had come from is obvious. A glancing behind it reveals scrape marks in the dirt and small patches of depleted nutrient gel mixed with spots of weak energon leading back to a small gap that had opened in the sunken ground close by. What it was doing out here, in a section abandoned some thousands of vorns before the warrior himself was even sparked, is another matter entirely.

 

Leaning down a little for a better look he abruptly reels back as the little hatchling shudders, mouth opening to emit a small pitiful bleat that jabs sharply at his spark. Its golden optics dimming to a muddy yellow, as its knees suddenly buckle.

 

Faster than most would think the bulky mech capable, he drips down large hands sweeping out to catch the fragile little body before it hits the ground. An instinct he didn’t know he even possessed, drives him to lift and hold the frighteningly light frame close against his chassis.

 

He almost drops the hatchling when a sharp shriek and hiss peels from its tiny vocalizer, body writhing and flailing in his firm grasp. Ridged with spark wrenching fear, processor screaming in panic, his grip lightens as he stares wide opticed down at the small form dwarfed by his broad hands.

 

Has he hurt it? Did he grip it too hard? To his mild relief the audio grating cries and thrashing swiftly stop as his grip lessens to simply cupping the shivering body. Small vents hiccup out stuttered whimpers as the little one loosely curls up within the space of his hands, big optics never once leaving his face. Flaring his energy field he swaths the others reeling, out of control energies with soothing calm and reassurances of safety and protection. He receives back a jumbled hard to discern mix of _hurt, fear, need, safe?_ the last causes Ironhide to pause momentarily before giving a passing agreement. Yes, they were safe with him… he guessed. That draws a soft, dare he say happy, chirp from the little thing a tiny hand reaching out to grasp one of his thick digits in a surprisingly firm grip.

 

Taking a moment to scan over the hatchling, he finds himself silently cursing. It’s thin scarily soft, blue grey plating is covered in little dents, scrapes and long thin gouges. One arm pressed defensively to its body is partially dislocated at the shoulder and elbow joints, the delicate plating bent and slightly twisted out of place, displaced thin wiring, fluid lines and tension cables jutting out. No wonder the little things in pain.

 

It brings him some relief to see he could not have caused an injury such as this just by picking it up, but his spark still constricts at seeing something so young in pain. Unconsciously he gently brings the little frame to rest against his chest, listening intently as the soft little sounds of distress and shivering die off. With a soft clicking churr, it wriggles around releasing his finger in favor of curling in closer the warmth of his broad chassis before bright optics flicker and droop, the hatchling rapidly slipping into recharge.

 

Dumbfounded for a moment at the amazing display of complete naive trust, the tautness in his body slowly slips away as tension cables relax and hydraulics hissing with release. A small smile twitches at the heavy mech’s face plate as he adjusts his grip, shifting the hatchling to rest more securely in the crook of his arm. Skinny little fingers instinctively paw at his plating quickly latching on to the first hard edge in reach securing its place in his hold as the little body wriggles turning toward his side, then falling still once again.

 

Ironhide stares in wonder at the tiny form – so delicate, so breakable - snuggled into his plating, energy fields flowing in soft undulating waves, the sense of calm, affection and safety now quite clear above the general noise of an unconstrained, still weak field. It disturbs him more than he’d ever admit how much he finds himself unconsciously reciprocating the feelings.

 

His status as a warrior class with massive canons and a love for using them, plus an abrasive personality meant he has few he can honestly call true friends and even fewer who want to be within his energy field range. The fact this little one, this precious new born in pain and so worryingly fragile and vulnerable is trusting enough to fall into recharge in his powerful hands that could so easily crush it sent a strange, warm little tingle through his hardened spark.

 

Shaking himself he gathers his scattered wits, logic and tactical programming coming to the fore. He needs to get the hatchling to a medic quickly as possible. He has some basic medical training, but that is only for general battle damage and basic injuries. There was nothing in it about how to deal with a new born hatchling, thusly he doesn’t know if its behavior or weak, erratic energy field are normal.

 

With nowhere within his alt to securely store the hatchling without potentially causing further harm he locks his arm securely in place covering the tiny form held therein with his free hand and sets off. Wide feet pound the brittle ground at speed as he runs back to the main camp, pushing his lumbering body to its limits.


	2. Chapter 2

The looks on the face plates of those back at the camp are going to be something Ironhide will have engrained in his memory cores for a long time to come. Complete and utter shocked bewilderment radiates from each mech in palatable waves, various optics locked on the curled form nestled in the crook of his bulky arm.

 

He takes particularly smug delight in striking the normally loud mouthed flyer, Livewire, silent. In all the vorns he’s worked with the tawny coloured jet the mech was never short of some form of smart aft remark or obtuse comment to get him attention.

 

Although he is thoroughly enjoying the little show he knows there are more important things to be dealt with. Pushing a loud hiss of hot air from his stress heated chassis, he straightens from his hunched stance.

 

“If’n ya all done gawkin’ like a buncha slack jawed service drones I need some help here. Yes, it’s a hatchlin’. Yes, I sorta know where I came from. And no, I dunno what its doin` out here or why and right now I don’t particularly care. The little thing is damaged and in pain. Any of ya got any decent level medical trainin’?”

 

Knowing full well his team only have the same basic medical knowledge he does his narrow focus turns on the 5 scientists and 2 elder historian scholars. A few kliks pass in silence before one of the elder scholars, Alpha Trion, steps forward violet optics locked on the small form held securely, though gently in the black mech’s thick arm.

 

“I believe I have sufficient training to see to the young ones care for now. Although, it would be best to bring him to the nearest medical centre as soon as possible.”

 

A fine silvery hand reaches out, long tapered fingers gently tracing over the markings on the hatchling's helm. With a quiet whine golden optics snap open coming into sharp focus on the elder mech’s harsh, angular features.

 

The lush amethyst and gold filigreed mech studies the little one intently, repeated deep scans running over the small frame much to the hatchling's displeasure. The tiny frame wriggles in the big mechs gently hold, vocals squeaking and buzzing in displeasure as it attempts to maneuver away and hide from the repeated, unfamiliar intrusion across its energy field.

 

Alpha Trion notes its sizing slightly larger than the average hatchling at 6 feet, 8 inches in length, limbs long and slender most of the frame mass situated around the torso as expected for a new born hatchling, the optics an unusual but not unheard of yellow gold colouration. He notes the plating is so thin near the joints and parts of the abdomen it is almost translucent. A gentle touch confirms the soft, almost pliable texture of the protoform plates usually seen with a hatchling having very recently emerged from its pod. A joor, maybe two at most. All this makes sense with Ironhide’s basic story and couples as normal in his processor as he receives the readings on the spark. It’s larger than expected and feels strangely old and powerful, yet young and unburdened with the marks of a life lived. This and the unusual markings on its soft protoform will need to be examined further.

 

“Ironhide, if I may? I need to begin treating the injuries immediately.”

 

The elder mech holds his arms out expectantly, pale violet optics briefly focusing on Ironhide’s glowing with assurance and trust, before slipping down to lock on the hatchling. A broad hand gently runs over the small ones helm as it whines louder, little fingers gripping harder to his plating and gold optics staring intently into blue pleading with him not to let go.

 

“Ironhide? If you would, please.”

 

Alpha Trion speaks a little louder, starting the large mech from his trance. Nodding with a muttered apology he gently extracts the curled form from the confines of his arm placing it into the waiting hands of the smaller mech and turns away.

 

Did he just hesitate? He never hesitates. Such actions are what get mechs killed! He’s a warrior class military mech. Armored and trained to fight and kill to protect his home city and planet. He doesn’t care, has never cared, about hatchlings. Frail, defenseless and horribly dependent little things they are, but he reminds himself all Cybertronians had the base instinct to protect the young and vulnerable. It was just that old instinct rearing its head. That’s all.

 

Loud, shrill cry break him from his internal deliberation.

 

Snapping back to himself, scans bursting outward he instantly zeros in on the source. He doesn’t need to see the little one to pick up on its pain and high levels of distress. Piercing static laden shrieks and angry hisses make his spark lurch in its casing, energy charging through his lines prepping for quick movement. Looking around he finds his fellow warriors have moved to flank the scientists and historians on all sides. The excavation team huddled in a half circle around Alpha Trion.

 

The scholar sits on the rough ground, thin legs folded under him as he struggles to calm the flailing, screeching hatchling. Ironhide can feel the air buzzing with silent comm. messages and repeated field flairs between the science team as they all watch the elder’s ministrations with an unnerving singular focus.

 

“Hush little one. Calm now, enough of that. The worst is done.”

 

Armor drawing tight and cables tensing Ironhide pushes forward intent on intervening only to have Theta Trion, the other elder historian, sinuously slide into his path. Delicate hands press firmly against his wide chest plates, an unfamiliar energy field intruding on his projecting peace, concern and good will. Their angular, backward sweeping helm tilts to look up at him, a small troubled smile gracing their long, fine faceplates.

 

Ironhide glares back at them, barely repressing the strong urge punch the smaller mech in his delicate face and wipe off that fake look of concern. Despite their open display he can feel the ire and sharp distaste towards him curling underneath the patronizing act.

 

“Calm yourself, warrior. Alpha Trion is attending to the little one as best he can with what limited medical kits we have. The realigning of joints at any age is painful as I am sure you know.”

 

A deep rolling growl and a warning flare of energies see Theta hastily removing his hands from the much larger mech’s chest. With a nervous vent he glances away before looking back up at the bulky warrior, spiky shoulder plates fanning and chest pushing forward in a false display of confidence.

 

The warrior can practically scent the fear blurring the edges the others self assured energies.  

 

“You informed us that the little one was found in the lower western section of the ruins, correct?”

 

Keeping a few sensors trained on Alpha Trion as he works, still somewhat struggling with the less than cooperative hatching, Ironhide eyes the sapphire blue and gold mech suspiciously. At least the cries had died down to hiccupping whines and whimpers, but his processor is still reeling, spark racing and body tensed ready to snatch the hatchling away from Alpha Trion at a moments notice.

 

“Affirmative.”

 

Is the flat, rumbled reply to the query. Pleased to have the warrior’s attention, Theta presses ahead.

 

“Good, good. By chance, did you take notice of what portion of the ruins the hatching emerged from? Were there any structures remaining or any markings such as glyphs on the ground or structures?”

 

With a heavy snort, Ironhide glares down at the slight mech, blunt face plates twisting into a scowl.

 

“No, can’t say I was payin’ any particular attention to those kinda things considerin` the situation. Newborn hatchlin’ suddenly standin’ at my feet 'n all.”

 

The black mech states in as patronizing a tone as he had been addressed with, delighting in seeing the little mech’s features pinch in annoyance.

 

“Of course… _clueless brute_.”

 

The remark is mumbled, but Ironhide easily picks up on it. Resolve finally snapping fists tighten with grinding creaks and field radiating rage and indignation, Ironhide looms over the much shorter, thinner mech.

 

“What was that ya smarmy little glitch?!”

 

Theta has enough of a sense of self-preservation to skip back a step under the broad mech’s flaring ire. A thick wine red arm swings between the two, roughly pulling the dark mech back.

 

“Enough. Stand down Ironhide. I’ve already called in an emergency evac they’ll be here in 2 joors. We need to start organizing for a fast dust off.”

 

Not taking his optics off the small scholar Ironhide rumbles;

 

“Understood, Hardtop. The sooner we get outta here the better.”

 

Theta huffs, silvery optics shining with a steely glare as he barely manages to smother the whiff of momentary panic leaching from his frame. Brushing rusted dust from his frame he pivots sharply on his heel with a dismissive flick of shoulder plating and stalks back to the others.

 

Waiting till the others back is turned Hardtop roughly pulls Ironhide a few steps aside. Bright scarlet optics narrowing and large clawed hands clamping down firmly on the darker mech’s wide shoulders, Hardtop hisses through his comm. link;

 

:: _What the frag is wrong with you Ironhide? You never crack it so easy with smart mouthed glitches like that. You better reign in that temper before I send you on a run back to Tyger Pax the LONG way around. Got it?_ ::

 

Red optics bore into cobalt blue for several kliks, neither party willing to relent. Both are far too competitive and head strong to back down by test of will alone.

 

Soon red optics soften and small smile graces craggy features. A loud sigh leaves the onyx warrior as the other gives him a heavy handed pat on the shoulder.

 

:: _Yeah I know, I know. I got it. I’m sorry alright?_ ::

 

:: _Good. Besides, he’s a little thin plated, ego bloated scholar. A flick of one finger and he’d snap in two like temp plating. It wouldn’t do good for your rep._ ::

 

Giving the other a playful swat across the back of his crested helm, Hardtop steps away sharp optics scanning the surrounding area. Following the others lead, Ironhide turns his optics to scanning for the positions of each mech before turning outward to the barren land. Moving to an open space in their defensive circle he feels himself starting to slide back into well worn routine; comm. line open and filled with general status chatter, sensors tracking each member of the group and optics scanning for anomalies.

 

The evac shuttle would he here soon, the hatchling taken care of and everything will go back to normal. This irritating worry niggling in the back of his processor and strange twinge in his spark would finally stop and he could go spend a few joors in the training grounds working off this itching charge in his frame and awful tension in his joints.

 

As the breems seem to drag on his fingers curl and uncurl, tension cables twitching as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Yes a few hours tearing up the training grounds, a couple of hand to hand combat bouts and shooting up drones sounded good, really good.

 

Squealing cries break his line of thought. That awful grating sound again. By Primus what are they doing?

 

:: _Oh for pits sake ‘Hide. Stop stalling and go check on it before you break something fretting. You’re projecting something fierce and it’s giving me a processor ache._ ::

 

The sudden transmission catches him off guard causing the broad mech to jump slightly. Irked blue flicks to meet Hardtop’s calm red, a small knowing smirk curling the edges of the dark red mech’s sharp mouth.

 

:: _I’m NOT frettin’._ ::

 

Is the reply, glyph points sharp and colored hot to show his ire, though Ironhide is quick to leave his post. The 5 science mechs have moved off, collecting and storing away their equipment and their collected samples and treasures, leaving Alpha Trion and Theta Trion alone to care for the hatchling.

 

With Theta’s help Alpha has managed to get the hatchling to settle enough to finish realigning the joints in the little one’s arm and smear a thin coating of repair gel over the scratches and dents, binding it all down with some thin straps of mesh tape. Despite his calm exterior each pained cry and wail, distressed hiss and fruitless, uncoordinated thrashing of thin limbs makes Alpha's spark twitch in sympathy. Laying the small body out on his lap he rubs and presses firmly on little ones middle and lower back.

 

“Hush little one, this is for your own good. Come now, let it out you’ll feel better once it's gone.”

 

Normally encouraging a new born hatchling to purge the left over, now waste, nutrient gel within its tanks wasn’t so difficult. A bit of pressure, taps and pushing across the right areas of the back near where the tanks were situated would usually help stimulate them to purge it out if they hadn’t already done so shortly after emergence, but this one seems to be set to fight him the whole way. Theta has already tried only to have the hatchling screech and thrash even harder, its stress levels quickly becoming dangerously high. No amount of cooing, gentle touch or calming pulses of their combined fields seems to make any difference.

 

:: _That black warrior approaches. Should I send him away?_ ::

 

Glancing up, Alpha Trion spots Ironhide slowly approaching them. His body stiff, optics bright as they zero in on the squalling hatchling.

 

:: _No, let him be. He won’t cause harm._ ::

 

Hydraulics softly hiss and gears grind as the warrior squats down an arm’s length from the scholars, shoulders hunching forward. He eyes the two mechs with barely contained distrust before his gaze is dragged like a magnet down to the writing tangle of plates and limbs in Alpha’s lap.

 

“Is somethin’ wrong? All I been hearin’ is it screamin’ its vocalizer out!”

 

No sooner do the words pass from the large mech does the small body stills in Alpha’s grasp. All three look down to see the hatchling staring at Ironhide, spindly arms stretched out towards him and little fingers making grabbing motions. When he doesn’t immediately respond plaintive whines leave the little one’s vocals as its struggles grow stronger trying to push itself off the elder’s lap.

 

Without even thinking, Ironhide leans forward and reaches out thick fingers barely bushing over the tiny helm. The whines and incoherent babbling instantly grow in volume, tiny hands fervently seizing hold and pulling on his fingers. Watching the behavior a flash of realization passes across the purple and gold mech’s optics completely unnoticed by the other two mecha.

 

Sliding a silver hand under the tiny frame he gently lifts its almost non existent weight. Supporting its back and aft with his other hand he holds the small squirming hatchling out to Ironhide. The dark mech immediately shrinks back optics and energies swirling with confusion.

 

“W-what are ya -”

 

“I believe he wants to be held by you. You may have more success calming him and encouraging him to clear his tanks than we have thus far.”

 

Giving a reassuring smile, energy flowing with serenity and encouragement Alpha Trion presses the small form into the large mech’s unsure hands.

 

:: _What are you doing? We do not want it imprinting on this lumbering oaf! He is a warrior class. A military mech! It’s impossible for him to -_ ::

 

:: _Enough! I understand your trepidation, but it is clearly far too late for that Theta. Watch._ ::

 

Optics spiraled down to a heated points, field blunt edged with disapproval, Theta watches Alpha’s movements as he guides the large warrior into the same sitting position he had previously held. Some shuffling and awkward handling later sees the hatchling lying across the mechs wide lap. With Alpha’s directions, one large finger lightly presses and rubs small circles into the soft plating of the diminutive back.

 

Where before the little one had thrashed, kicked and cried insistently under their ministrations, it now laid quietly, fine little face plates scrunched up in discomfort. With three sharp taps to the very middle of its back the hatching gives a series of gurgling coughs, thick grey gel-like fluid ejecting from its mouth and splattering on the ground.

 

Face plates twisting in disgust from the sight and bitter smell, Ironhide moves to return the much more docile hatchling only for Alpha to push it back into his lap. Stunned, he sits stiffly as Alpha arranges the now quiet, relaxed form to lay back in the crux of his arm, pressed snuggly into his chassis. A long finger gently pets the little abdomen causing the hatchling to twist away and tuck itself tightly into the big mech’s side, looking back at the elder with golden optics wavering between curiosity and distrust.

 

“Ah, much better now, yes? So much fuss and fight for such a simple thing. Tell me warrior, what do you know of hatchlings?”

 

Ironhide studies the Trion carefully, searching his energies, posture and optics for any hint of the mech’s intentions. Straightening, optics narrowed he adjusts his grip on the tiny hatchling, unconsciously moving them out of the elder mechs reach.

 

“Bout as much as most.”

 

Gesturing for Ironhide to elaborate, the amethyst and gold mech flicks a quick glance back at the other scholar who is still quietly seething, optics locked on the big warrior with a sharp acerbic edge. It is clear he still refuses to accept the fact the hatchling is now well out of their reach of further study or potential imprinting on either of them.

 

“They get assigned to a mech after sparkin’ to be collected at birth, hatching. They’re clingy, noisy and have to be constantly cared for until they reach at least 15 or so vorns.”

 

Smiling lightly the purple mech slowly nods leaning forward, thin silver fingers reaching out once again to delicately trace the markings on the hatchlings helm. Ironhide watches his every move with increasing scrutiny.

 

“Yes, that is all true. The reason they are ‘clingy’ as you so put it, is due to imprinting and the bond they form with their guardian. Most guardians are specifically chosen for their energy field and spark resonance with the newly created spark. The closer the match the more settled the hatchling will be and the faster the bond will establish.

 

“If the hatchling accepts and imprints on the guardian this bond is usually formed within the first 1 to 3 joors of birth through physical contact and the open mingling of energy fields. Once the bond has formed the hatchling will not generally tolerate being held by another until it is at least a vorn old. This bond works both ways. A guardian’s energy fields change ever so slightly to match frequencies with the hatchling and vise versa, thusly creating an unconscious response to the hatchling emotional states. If they are contented so will their guardian be. If they are distressed their guardian will respond accordingly.”

 

Glancing down as the hatchling turns to bury its face in against the bulk his body, tiny fingers wedged into small gaps and holding tight, Ironhide fights to stay still and calm. The need to fidget, get up and walk around to process all this new information is strong, but the urge to remain seated and not upset the hatchling is much stronger. Despite some behavior that suggested otherwise, he was not a stupid mech by a long shot and worked just as much on instinct as logical thought.

 

Soon realization dawns on him like a point blank shot from a plasma cannon. It all makes sense now. Why the hatchling had been constantly crying and fighting after he gave it to Alpha Trion, where before it had been so content and calm with him it had fallen into recharge despite its injuries. It also explained why his nerves had been on edge since he left it, and why every cry made his spark twist in its casing urging him to do something, anything to stop the distress.

 

Processor threatening to freeze for the second time that orn he gazed wide opticed down at the diminutive form, half lidded gold optics now peeking out to watch him and weak energy field pressing and mingling with his seeking assurance. This tiny, fragile little thing had chosen _him_ as its guardian… He’s a Guardian.

 

Loud grating laughter tears through his moment of shocked awe.

 

Head slowly swiveling, optics glowing bright Ironhide spots Livewire, Raze and the largest mech of the guard team, Alloy, a short distance away. All three stumbling over themselves, vents heaving as loud raucous laughter peels from their vocals.

 

“HA HAA! Grumpy aft Ironhide with a hatchling! His beloved cannons finally have a rival for his affections! Ha ha, ah ha…oooh slag…”

 

Livewire quickly found himself shutting off his vocalizer as one of said beloved cannons powers up with a dull whine, the glowing barrel coming to level on him. A rumbling growl issues from deep within the dark mech’s chest as he locks sights on the annoying flyer. Before things could escalate further a loud irate bark of orders to stand down diffuses the situation as quickly as it started. Stepping up to Raze and Livewire, Hardtop gives both mecha hard reprimanding cuffs at the back of the helm, opting for a sharp kick to the knee joint for the much larger transport flyer Alloy.

 

“Enough, all of you! Raze, get back to your position. Alloy, go help the scientists with equipment crates. Livewire, get you aft in the air I want circling patrols of the area and regular reports on the areas stability until the evac transport arrives. Guide them to our position when they’re in range. Got it? Good. _Get moving!_ ”

 

Turning his gaze onto the seated mech, Hardtop rolls his shoulders optics briefly flicking to Alpha Trion then the gold optics watching him from the confines of thick ebony plates.

 

:: _You’re relieved of duty for now ‘Hide outside of looking after the little bitlet, so keep your cannons and that slagging temper stowed. You can take a shot at their smart aft’s AFTER we get back and the hatchling is at a safe distance._ ::

 

Huffing an amused snort through his vents, Ironhide just sneers jokingly after Hardtop as the heavy set mech meanders back to his post. An inquisitive chirp dawns his attention down to the crook of his arm. Delicate face plates pinched in what looks like concern and a small hand slap-pats against a broad plate of his chest, optics scanning his face. Running a thick digit over the long audial finials, under its chin and down to the slightly protruding chest he smiles to himself. The stroking earns him sweet little purring churrs and blips.

 

“Nothin' for ya to worry about little one. Hmm… gonna have to name ya aren’t we? Can't keep callin' ya little one, hatchlin' and bitlet all the time.”

 

"Yes, we will indeed. For one so young it can be difficult to find a name to suit without any prior knowledge of their full personality or what function they were expected to have."

 

Alpha Trion agrees, happy to see the warrior accepting his new position and taking it seriously. A faint smile pulls at the elder's thin lip plates watching the little hatchling churrs in delight at the touch of its guardian, tiny hands grabbing at and examining the large digit.

 

Perking up and seeing an opportunity to at least make sure the hatchling didn't gain some unflattering form or function based name, Theta Trion tentatively steps over to the two seated mechs lowly fanning his shoulder spikes and clearing his vents to get their attention. Ironhide watches the mech with blatant distrust, low warning growl rumbling in his throat.

 

“Ah, I believe I already have a solution to that Alpha Trion. Earlier when we checked the spark chamber itself I noted small glyphs inside the protoform plates. I believe this one has already been gifted a name by whomever began the frame creation process for him. The writing was of an old, rare dialect I have not seen in quiet some time, though I know it very well having studied it with y–“

 

A louder rumbling growl from the black mech sees Theta quickly dropping his explanation with an annoyed scowl.

 

“Optimus. I believe the glyphs, if read in the correct order, form the name Optimus.”

 

Theta bit out, more than a little peeved at the rude response to his show of knowledge.

 

“Hn….Not bad I guess.”

 

Ironhide muses watching as the hatchling - Optimus he reminds himself- looses interest in his fingers, inquisitive optics rove around properly taking in his surroundings for the first time. Smiling warmly as the little one squirms to get a better view over his guardian’s arm Alpha Trion makes a high click in his throat remembering another detail about hatchlings.

 

“Ah yes, one more thing Ironhide. Optimus will be needing his first intake of energon before the transport arrives now his tanks are clear. Since we do not have a ready supply here filtered on a level to suit one with such immature systems, you will be providing it.”

 

Sharp blue optics snap up to meet amused pale violet.

 

“Uh, I… what?”

%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the big delay between chapters. Been unwell for a while since one of my rather important medications has stopped working (yay my stupid rampaging immune system) and I'm currently on the wait list to see a specialist for new meds and a plan on how to deal with my problems with drug resistance.  
> Today is also poor old crappy lappy's last day as my main and only PC, so trying to get at least a chapter out now while Ironhide 3.0 (new PC) is under construction, old crappy is still behaving for the most part and my brain is cooperating.
> 
> Had some issues pasting the text in with this chapter, mostly the formatting going bananas, so let me know if you see any weird formatting I've missed fixing.
> 
> On to the chapter!

Ironhide shifts forward to rest more firmly on his knees, crested head tiled and optics pointedly focused on Alpha Trion.  
  
“Ya mind repeatin’ that?”  
  
Nodding slowly, the royal purple mech gestures towards the hatchling partially concealed behind the warrior’s thick arm.  
  
“Optimus will need his first intake of energon within the joor now his systems are clear of the depleted nutrient gel. His body is now starving since it no long has any other reserves to draw on aside from his spark which will not be able to reasonably sustain him until the transport arrives. He needs an energon infusion to begin building his energy reserves. It is abundantly clear that he has imprinted on and bonded to you, due to this his systems will no longer accept it from another.  
  
Under normal circumstances a portion of energon would be drained from your own lines, filtered down to ensure it is clean and of a quality level appropriate to a new born hatchling. Then you would be given the feeding syringe with the prepared energon to introduce the hatchling to its first ingestion of energon. However, we currently do not have the time nor means to do it the usual way so Optimus will need to be fed direct from one of your lines.”  
  
Ironhide remains still for a moment, sharp optics scanning and scrutinizing the other trying to pick apart their words and verses their energy field tells. It all compiles to be true statements, and unnerves the big mech a little. Sharing or exchanging energon from one’s own lines is seen as an extremely intimate gesture between mecha as a form of partner bonding and a show of extreme trust since it contains a tiny portion of their sparks energies and code. To be told he was to give some of his to a new individual who had no say in accepting or rejecting it doesn’t initially sit right with him.  
  
Small quiet trills draw his attention down to his arm where the little hatchling has twisted around and partially pulled himself up to see over Ironhide's arm. Wide gold optics take in the other mecha and desolate surrounds with soft inquisitive double-clicks and churrs. Carefully running a large finger down the small back, appeasing his sudden need to constantly touch the little frame, he heaves a vent of atmosphere in a sigh and asks;  
  
“What do I need ta do?”  
  
Pleased, the Trion enthusiastically points and gestures as he begins his explanation.  
  
“It is rather simple. We disconnect one of your small lesser energon lines from near your main filtering capillaries and pass the line far enough into Optimus’ intake that he should be able to draw in down into his processing tanks and get them kick started with processing and distributing the energon. This should supply him with a sufficient quantity of energon until he is seen to by a proper medic. In truth, it is not ideal but hopefully will work.”   
  
Thinking it all over Ironhide does his best to relax, energies loosing some of the defensive edge. Seeing the expectant light in the elders violet optics he releases a soft duel layered click of acceptance to what needs to be done. Tentatively Alpha moves in close increasingly delighted with the warrior’s acceptance and how well he is settling into his new role.  
  
Careful hands guide the unresisting large mech to lift his left arm up, exposing the hydraulics and small armor pieces protecting his left side and the vitals within. Sending a comm. request containing a tiny data packet of what will be done the amethyst mech presses tapered fingers to a curved dark plate low on the mech’s chest. Tilting to the right, Ironhide flexes the plating, initializing base line transformation sequences in that area, halting them after the initial loosening of connective lines to his plates. This allows Alpha to gently push the outer armor aside.  
  
He can’t suppress the full body twitch when those long, thin digits touch the silvery skin of his now exposed protoform. The contact is disturbingly cold against the heated, sensitive metal.  
  
:: _My apologies. This may cause some discomfort but should not cause pain._ ::  
  
Reducing the flow of coolant to his hands Alpha slowly guides the protoform ‘ribs’ open just enough to finally expose the mechs warm innards. His small stature and spindly structured frame allows him to easily slip up to the middle of his forearm into the tight gap.  
  
Pale violet optics flick up to the mechs blunt face plates every few kliks searching for any sign of excessive discomfort or pain. A blissful hum passes through the elder’s spark seeing the warrior’s attention focused solely on Optimus, the little one happily emitting small warbling trills and clicks as a thick thumb gently strokes over thinly plated shins.  
  
A combination of sonar pings, special scans and highly attuned nerve filaments Alpha Trion to navigate within the extremely cramped space. Carefully sorting through thick cables, lattices of coolant and lubricant lines and webs of various forms of nerve cilia and wires he quickly finds the pulsating energon line he is seeking.  
  
The line itself is only an inch in diameter, but still large in comparison to the small body it will soon be feeding. Extending the tips fingers into long thin pincers he firmly pinches off the tube where it connects into a much larger arterial line. Waiting a few klicks for the main line to seal off what the body perceives as a break, he sharply twists and snaps the line away slowly and gently extracting it. Ironhide is glad when the little scholar is done. No one likes anyone else prodding their insides at the best of times.  
  
Compressing and twisting the end of the line to narrow the diameter and minimize spillage, Alpha slowly brings the line towards the little ones mouth.  
  
“Here we are little one, open up for me. Come now, open up you need this.”  
  
Alpha tries several times to coax Optimus into take the line, but the hatchling is having none of it, constantly twisting around and attempting to push it away. Even when Alpha Trion holds the little one’s helm in place and Ironhide tries to coax him into taking it he still refuses. The more they push the faster little one’s stubbornness gives away to rising distress, amplified by his guardian also becoming very annoyed and stressed. Irritated, Ironhide hisses;  
  
“Why won’t he take it? What’s wrong with him?”  
  
“Honestly I’m not sure. It has been quite some time since I’ve dealt with one this young, though trouble with first feeding is not unheard of. I know of another solution, but it will be more invasive for Optimus. I’ll need to connect the line directly to the top of the filter on his main tank to ensure he gets the energon in and starts processing it.”  
  
Looking down at his hatchling, his little face pinched up and optics squeezed tightly shut as he weakly kicks and pushes at their hands with muted distressed sounds, Ironhide can feel his short temper beginning to fray.  
  
“Fine, whatever just do it.”  
  
He rumbles, desperate to see the weak struggles stop and the torrid spiking energy field settle before he completely cracks and does something he will regret. Nodding, Alpha Trion glances over to Theta.  
  
”Theta, come here please. I will need your assistance with the hatchling.”  
  
The sapphire and gold mech initially makes no move to assist, only giving them a sidelong sour glare. A pointed comm. ping filled with choice words and less than pleasant threats to his reputation from Alpha proves to be an instant and very strong motivator. Finally moving to step closer the scholar halts as icy blue optics glare sidelong at him, a clear promise of pain glowing within if the mech does anything amiss.  
  
“Please, Ironhide. I’m afraid your hands are far too large and ill equip for this task. I need Theta to help open Optimus’ abdominal plates so I can insert the line. No true harm will come to him. That I promise.”  
  
A low rumble issues deep within the black mech’s chest before he relents. Wide hands gently shift the small form from one arm to the other, laying Optimus out along a broad forearm. The small helm swivels to scrutinize one mech then the other before tiling back looking for direction from his guardian, faceplates still pinched in distress and delicate little fingers flexing anxiously against dense plating.  
  
Spotting the blue one moving closer and the purple one leaning close to hover over him, Optimus whimpers body twisting as he attempts curly up. A large grey hand holds him in place as soothing warmth curls over him easing his rising panic. Ironhide can only guess he’s already come to associate these mechs with pain and doesn’t blame the little thing for not wanting them near, but he can’t do this alone and the sooner it’s over the better.  
  
Using his large fingers spread to carefully hold the hatchling in place, Ironhide gives one sharp nod to the other Trion. Steely optics watching the blue mech's every move.  
  
Moving quickly and efficiently Theta crouches low, two finger tips splitting open with fine pincers and manipulator tools fanning out. Using these he coaxes the still soft abdominal plates open as gently as possible, careful not to strain or break the delicate clusters of connecting sensory wires. Feeling the intrusion the little one’s first instinct is to pull away, long legs coming up and kicking at the intruding hand and tiny hands trying to grab the unwanted things touching him. A soft shush and a large hand moving to carefully hold his arms stilling his struggles.  
  
“Settle, he ain’t gonna hurt you. I’ll make sure of that.”  
  
Ironhide assures Optimus, drawing the hatchlings attention up and away from the blue elder as his compatriot preps the line. It doesn’t make it any easier when a loud startled wail splits the thin air as Alpha Trion swiftly slips the energon line in, piercing and attaching it to a main arterial line leading into the processor tanks.  
  
Ironhide hums softly, energy field swathing Optimus’ panicking one with soothing warmth and calm, unsure of what else to do as the hatchling wails and struggles in shock more than pain. In his distress the small amount of energon that has made it into his primary tanks is perceived as a danger by his confused, immature systems driving his intake controls to reverse.  
  
A particularly high pitched wail cutting off into a gurgling retch is the only warning before the hatchling purges the small amount of energon his systems have collected. Bright cyan blue splatters over already filthy blue grey plates and Ironhide’s restraining hand sending the large mech into a near panic.  
  
“What the frag!?! Is he supposed to do that?”  
  
Normally purging was a sign of severe internal damage or that there was a dangerous contamination or toxins in the body. He barely manages to resists the urge to grab the purple mech by his skinny neck and shake him senseless. Instead he shifts his weight off his stiff knees and adjusts his grip on the squirming distressed hatchling, sending wave after wave of calming warm, trust, safe, through his energies trying to calm him as much as himself.  
  
Fumbling with a thigh compartment, Alpha Trion fishes out a small dull grey cleaning rag. He carefully wipes up the worst of spilled energon being mindful of the silvery line still tenuously attached in the hatchlings abdomen.  
  
“Calm yourself warrior, give the little one a moment. As I said this is not the normal method for giving a hatchling its first energon intake though it is the best option we have available to us since he won’t take it via his intake and we don’t have the right equipment for any other option. Purging was a possibility with this rougher method -”  
  
Anger flares deep in the warriors spark, colouring his field with a sharp caustic edge. To him only giving half the details for something so important is a good as giving none at all.  
  
“WHAT?! You never said anything about purgin’! If you’ve hurt him I’ll– “  
  
“He’s in no pain warrior! Settle down. This is the best we can do to maintain him until someone with the proper training and equipment arrives. Please calm yourself, this is not helping. The more agitated you are the longer it will take Optimus to settle.”  
  
Forcefully quelling in his rage and anxiety, Ironhide releases the hatchling’s thin arms and carefully rubs his thumb over the small shoulders and chest as Optimus’ struggling lessens and distressed noises gradually quiet.  
  
:: _Ironhide, everything alright?_ ::  
  
:: _It’s fine Hardtop. Alpha Trion just did an energon transfer on Optimus and he ain’t likin’ it too much._ ::  
  
Systems finally matching the latent spark signature within the energon with the one radiating from the large body of his guardian Optimus' systems reset. His small body’s basic systems are so used to being sustained by and slowly processing what little energy it could get from the nutrient gel the sudden very potent rush of energy from the energon forcibly flooding through his lines proves almost too much. His still developing processor reels with his first taste of euphoria as the rich energy floods his weak, starving systems.  
  
Optimus gradually settles going limp in Ironhide’s warm grasp as the large mech does his best to moderate the energon flow continuing his gentle ministrations over the little chest. Bright optics watching the large mech slowly dim from over bright fear, to warm contentment.  
  
:: _Optimus? As in the hatchling? Ha, so the little bitlet has a name. One of those scholars pull that one outta his aft?_ ::  
  
Watching as the hatchling slowly slips into recharge, previously painfully rigid frame becoming loose and relaxed Ironhide finds his own over taught joints slackening. As his continuous scans show various dormant systems slowly powering into function for the first time, Ironhide snorts a slightly shaky, dismissive laugh.  
  
:: _Nah, Theta Trion recons it’s what’s written inside the hatchlin’s chest plates, apparently. Says it’s an old language or somethin' like that. I honestly don’t give a flyin' piece of slag about it. Smarmy little glitch so full of himself I’m surprised he can tell his aft from his head._ ::  
  
During the quiet little comm. conversation Alpha Trion silently takes a small polishing cloth from a compartment in his thigh, beginning to gently wipe up the worst of the rejected energon before it can begin crystalizing on delicate plating. The elder has barely started cleaning before a much larger hand pulls the cloth from his loose grip and takes up carefully  
  
Internally he quietly muses how ridiculous he must look coddling a hatchling, not to mention that by now his reputation amongst his fellow warriors is utterly shot to slag. Knowing Alloy and Livewire those mechs will have already made an attempt to send some form of message or data packet to the nearest guard post in Tyger Pax to spread the news so to speak.  
  
Patiently sitting back and waiting for the hatchlings energon levels to reach optimal, Alpha Trion neatly folds the soiled rag and slips it back into the narrow compartment in his thigh. Glancing over an ornately decorated shoulder the purple green mech sends a questioning ping through the other Trion’s comm. line.  
  
:: _This is on your head Alpha. I have done as asked, but I will not be dragged into this debacle any further by you. Know that I will be putting in a protest against this to the council and a petition to have that hatchling removed to proper care when we reach Tyger Pax._ ::  
  
The sapphire blue Trion regards the other with the barest fleeting look before bluntly cutting the comm. link signal. Standing and dusting off lingering metal powder Theta curtly nods to Alpha Trion with a barely concealed sneer curling his fine lip plates, pointedly ignoring Ironhide, before hastily stalking off to join with the mechs of the science team.  
  
“That… that ain’t gonna happen again is it? The purgin’ I mean?”  
  
Starting Alpha quickly looks to the large mech shocked by his suddenly soft, subdued – almost frightened - tone. Seeing his form hunched, optics intently watching the recharging form resting in his arm it is clear the sight of purging had greatly unsettled the big mech.  
  
It is something Ironhide will never openly admit, but the scene earlier had made his whole frame momentarily lock up in panic. He’d seen a mech purge once before on an off planet training exercise many vorn ago and what followed had been etched deep into his memory cores.  
  
An investigation after the incident revealed that the mech, despite warnings to never intake anything on a foreign planet before testing, had ingested a small piece of crystal like metal on a foolish dare by his comrades. That little lump of harmless looking crystal would turn out to be naturally tainted with veins of cadmium. The most toxic and poisons substance known to their kind. Ironhide would never forget watching helplessly as a promising young mech thrashed and screamed in agony as he and other mech tried to hold him down as their field medic franticly tried flushing his systems of the toxic metal. The audial rending shrieks of tortuous pain only stopped when violent bouts of purging vital fluids clogged the young mech’s intake and powerful seizures contorting his frame into unnatural, distorted poses. Within 2 joor the cadmium was finally neutralized and flushed from the mechs body, but the damage had already done.  
  
Cascading system failures had already put the mech in blessed, yet cursed void of stasis lock. His neural structures were the first to die off from a mix of the cadmium causing blockages and misfires in the impulse relays through his frame and within his processor and leaking fluids that were once energon, now turned a thin, foamy alkaline soup, seeped through split and burst fluid lines eating away at the delicate structures of his processor core. Despite their greatest efforts in the end all Ironhide could do was watch as one of his more promising students slowly succumbed to the ravages of cadmium poisoning before his optics - system by system - until his once bright spark gave one last feeble pulse, fluttered and went dark.  
  
Seeing the tiny hatchling thrashing and suddenly purge what little energon he’d been given made the large warriors spark skip a pulse in horror. The memory files of watching that mech ejecting vital fluids from his intake as his poisoned systems died before his optics briefly replaying, overlaying over the tiny form in his arms and for a split nano-klik. Just a nano-klik, he thought he was about to witness another untimely death.  
  
Alpha blinks, violet optics watching the large mech carefully noting the slight brightening of cobalt optics as they flick back to him and the stark, spinney edge to his field. It is clear that seeing the little one purge has deeply upset the dark mech. Why? He is not sure and feels loath to press the already agitated mech for ultimately unneeded answers.  
  
“No, no it should not happen again. It was caused by his body’s natural reaction to what it perceived as a foreign and potentially dangerous fluid. Ah, good his levels are optimal now, we can remove the line.”  
  
Crouching down under Ironhide’s watchful optics, Alpha moves slowly and very carefully in removing the energon line. Nimble finger tips split and fan open with fine tools similar to Theta’s, before dipping into the small opening in the slumbering hatchlings abdomen. Pinching off the thin tube where it had been forcibly connected to an arterial line, he waits for Optimus’ now fully functional repair systems to seal the breach before very carefully extracting the line.  
  
Running continuous scans over the small body Alpha leans back keeping the line shut with fine pincer tools, free hand guiding Optimus’ plates to naturally pull back into place. The hatchlings only response to all the prodding is a slight jerk of his limbs and a little peep of annoyance. Carefully placing the line back within Ironhide’s frame, allowing his repair systems to gradually pull it back into place, Alpha assists in shutting the inner and outer plates before gently checking over the hatchling’s chest armor to ensure it has sealed properly.  
  
Resting back on his haunches, aged hydraulics softly hissing in the back of his legs, hands resting flat against ornately decorated thigh plating the slender scholar looks over the heavy frame of the much larger warrior with a sharp scrutinizing gaze. He observes the mech as he quietly moves to tuck the little hatchling closer to his side, one enormous hand nearly covering the diminutive frame entirely.  
  
Almost a full breem passes before Alpha Trion speaks; harmonics flat and direct allowing no room for misunderstanding.  
  
“I will be blunt with you warrior. Your type was never suited for the role of guardian. You are selected and reared to be strong in body, sharp and tactical minded, heavily armored and brutishly violent on command. Simply put, you are the last type of mech I would ever allow to be guardian to such a vulnerable and impressionable hatchling.”  
  
Sharp blue optics immediately snap up and lock with violet, black armor plates subtly tightening, gaps narrowing. The large mech hunches forwards crested helm lowered, his left arm slowly shifting to tuck the limp body of the recharging hatchling more securely against heavy abdominal plates. A clear defensive, ready to turn offensive, posture if the Trion every saw one.  
  
Calmly raising a placating hand, Alpha Trion continues;  
  
“However… You have demonstrated a capacity for compassion, self control and shown you can curb your more violent tendencies in his presence.”  
  
Gesturing to the almost completely hidden form of Optimus tucked firmly under protruding armor layers.  
  
“I must commend you for this. I honestly never expected for you to settle into this role of guardian and protector so well or so quickly. But know this, I am giving you fair warning warrior, Ironhide, so please listen and listen well.”  
  
Sitting back, watching as the mech gradually settles Alpha continues, air more quiet and understanding.  
  
“There will be questions to be answered by all here this orn surrounding the hatchling, but you will be singled out for the most pressing of these. Many you will find unpleasant and intrusive and you will have your history, character and profession thoroughly dissected and picked over with clinical efficiency. Little regard will likely be given to how you may feel about this kind of treatment or your opinion on the intrusions into your personal life. Keeping a level head, disparaging opinions to yourself and a reign on that temper will be of the upmost importance for yourself and Optimus during this time.”  
  
Rubbing lightly at slightly worn gold filigreed thigh plating Alpha lets that sink in before continuing, now speaking from experience.  
  
“It will be difficult for you, I know. I have been a guardian under strained and unusual circumstances myself once before. I understand what you may be about to face and… I do have deep ties to the council – quite deep ties - and would like to assist you in this however I can to ensure things work in your favor… if you will allow it.”  
  
Ironhide critically assesses the small scholar, optics roving over his form noting how he held himself, his facial expression and the genuine emotions swirling in his energy field. The warrior is a mech whose trust was something one had to earn and words alone rarely were enough to sway him and the implications this slip of a mech had peeked his interest.  
  
Politely spoken with a layer of personal knowledge and understanding on offer, yet said offer of help tactfully given on the clause of being involved with his life and the hatchlings. Like Ironhide truly had a choice. Sly little fragger.  
  
Shifting his weight slightly, Ironhide was pleased to see a tiny twitch in the otherwise regally posed mech’s optical ridges. The little scholar knew he held sway over what the warrior would need most, but still knew should the dark mech take unkindly to his attempts to almost blackmail his way into the hatchling and his life he would be in grave danger.  
  
Remaining pointedly silent with his energies kept tightly restricted to his surface armor, the dark mech kept his optics pointedly focused on the elder scholar. There is the strong temptation to tell the little mech where he could unceremoniously stuff his back handed offer of help, yet he holds his vocals in check. He is not alone in how rejection or acceptance of this very crucial proposition will affect his life from this orn onwards. The other, most important and most affected by this decision, is yet too young to voice his opinion or desires on the matter one way or the other.  
  
Rolling back onto his feet and pushing his heavy form up to standing, he looks down at the smaller jewel toned mech, vocals flat and facial plating set firm and neutral.  
  
“I’ll… think on it.”  
  
That said, the large mech turns and stalks off, leaving the smaller to stare after him in saddened disappointment. Ironhide makes a point to stay within the small area his team mates have set as their guard perimeter, but still keeps his distance from them.  
  
Standing quietly and left to his own thoughts the massive upheaval of the last few joors finally hits home. Hard. He’d thought he had a relatively good grasp on what might be coming. Huge changes to his scheduling and ornly life were a given, but now he isn’t so sure he is as confident in his ability to simply suck it up and roll with such drastic adjustment in his previously so ordered and heavily structured life.  
  
Could he honestly do this? Could he be a good enough guardian for this hatchling? Can he handle the questioning Alpha Trion warned him about? He was used to dealing with testy politics and hard subjects were many lives could be on the line with one wrong decision, but could he handle having his entire life picked to pieces. Everything about who he was laid bare and hung before him as evidence against allowing him to keep the little life that had come to rely on him? And what about the questions of where the hatchling came from and his age? How were they going to deal with such an oddity as a hatchling born outside the usual birthing cycle?  
  
The last hatchling birth cycle was nearly a half a vorn ago and one of the worst cycles seen in some vorns. Nearly 63% of a world total 3,893 sparked pods failed, producing stillborns or hatchlings that failed to thrive, perishing some orns to a meta-cycle after birth. It had been 3 cycles since the planet wide celebration was held for the few surviving hatchlings who were now thriving. This little ones sudden appearance would most diffidently not go without notice.  
  
There was going to be so much to deal with once they got back to Tyger Pax. Maybe too much.  
  
He couldn't help letting the nagging thought that the royal purple Trion might be right. That he is the wrong type of mech for this. Would it be better for the both of them if he found a way to sever the bond and give Optimus to a properly trained guardian? Or would that just be the easy, sparkless, _selfish_ way out? What about raising the hatchling? Could he handle even more extreme up and downs possibly worse than this orn alone? So many things to think about.  
  
Mind pulling over all of these thoughts and more the ebony mech absent mindedly runs blunt fingers gently over the lukewarm little body cradled in his arm. Optimus fidgets as he begins to surface from recharge with a muffled whine, disturbed by the torrid of emotions rolling through Ironhide’s energy field. Startled out of his turbulent thoughts by the soft noise and almost questioning touch in the hatchlings weak field, Ironhide quickly smothers the turmoil by pushing warmth and reassurance though the lattice of their mingled fields.  
  
Looking down at the bundle in his arm, Ironhide smiles ever so softly as Optimus shifts to look up at him and press his little helm into the big mech’s cupped hand. A delicate little hand awkwardly scratch-rubs against armor plates, in an eerily similar pattern to Ironhide’s own careful petting, as recharge slowly reclaims the hatchling again. He’d swear the little one was trying to comfort him, though he was sure they had to be far too young to understand the concept of others needs or emotions.  
  
Stopping in his aimless pacing back and forth, he tilts his head back optics staring up at the dark sky, watching one of Cybertrons two moons as it lazily follows its orbital path, his tremulous processor finally settling. This has been an orn he won’t forget and this is a decision he is hoping beyond hope he will not regret. A genuine smile breaks across the mech’s harsh features as he slowly tilts his head back down to regard the hatchling in his arm giving the little form a light bounce, earning a happy little squeak.  
  
“We’ll guess we’re stuck with each other hey bitlet. I pray to Primus ya don't turn out to be some little pit spawn sent by Unicron to torment me for some wrong I done.”  
  
:: _Livewire to team. Emergency evac transport ETA one joor. They request all relevant parties to be gathered at these coordinates for fast pick up and dust off._ ::   
  
Stealing himself, the large warrior slowly makes his way back to the main camp. Whatever was coming he’d be ready for it… with some help.  
  
:: _Ironhide to Alpha Trion._ ::  
  
A stunned yet hopeful response is near instant.  
  
:: _Yes, Ironhide?_ ::  
  
:: _Made my decision. We got a lot to discuss._ ::


	4. Chapter 4

They make the move from the dig site almost immediately after receiving the transports projected landing coordinates. The scientists, loudly complaining of their disappointment at having to conclude their work so early, vowing to return after the area was reassessed and declared stable again, if only to find exactly where Optimus had come from and any significant discoveries there in.

 

For the joor long wait for the arrival of the transport Ironhide has been running a near constant comm. line conversation with Alpha Trion. Thoroughly picking the elder mech’s extensive memory banks for what questions he may soon be facing from the nursery, medical and guardian attendants and overseers, what to expect from the council and what information and testimony he will need to provide – Alpha assured him that he will deal with the majority of that and inform him of his part when the time comes - and his general advice in raising a hatchling. During this time he dealt with the sniggers from Alloy, childish jokes via glyph based comm. messages from Livewire and the strange, mildly unsure looks from Raze and Hardtop.

 

Ironhide’s team have kept him in the loop in their communications, but none have approached him since he took up caring for Optimus after the debacle with getting the hatchling to clear his tanks. An air of inquisitive wariness surrounding them when they looked towards him and the hatchling held ever so delicately in his massive arms. The science mechs on the other hand have had no such qualms about getting up close and personal. Once they realized they wouldn’t get their heads blown off if they approached the warrior with fields open and mildly submissive, politely asking to see the hatchling, they had each come over in turn to sate their curiosity.

 

Currently two of the science team, Diodestrata and Acolyte, are avidly watching as Optimus fidgets around as he emerges from recharge. Bright gold optics light and un-shutter quickly snapping to focus sharply on Ironhide as the large mech pets the small hatchlings abdomen and chest. The hardened warrior has noticed himself doing that unconsciously a lot in the past 2 joors. Touching, petting and moderating his plate temperature and energies to keep the little hatchling soothed and warm. Normally rather distant, usually only touching another during hand to hand combat training or in a gesture of comradery, he finds himself suddenly _needing_ to continually touch and stroke the tiny frame resting in the crook of his arm.

 

“Ah, his optics are such a beautiful bright colour. Hm, so young yet already marked. I wonder what these little glyphs mean and what technique they employed to create the etchings before hatching.”

 

Acolyte muses, the slender deep violet, almost black, scientist stretching out his digitigrade legs so he can better see over the jutting armor of Ironhide’s arm.

 

“It is a curiosity. Oh look at that I think he’s actually focusing on you Acolyte. Hello there little one.”

 

Diodestrata coos and giggles, watching as large, bright optics dance about looking between the two strangers before coming to focus on the scientist’s multi-jointed fingers as he wiggles them within grabbing distance of tiny fists. The large black mech silently cringes as the two grown mecha carry on like their logic centers have melted out, babbling nonsense and cooing over Optimus’ ever little move like it is the most fascinating and delightful thing they have ever seen.

 

For his part Optimus simply watches the two mechs. Wide curious optics flicking over the strange mechs faces and the long, waggling silver things hovering over him. He doesn’t even flinch when one of the mechs gently pokes his abdominal plates, little hands instead moving to grasp at the waving fingers. Alpha Trion had warned Ironhide that Optimus may be skittish around others and may not tolerate being approached or touched by strangers, but as the breems tick by the little one seems fairly content in mostly observing the two mechs as they make fools of themselves for his entertainment.

 

Noticing the little hatchling’s optics beginning to dull again, shutters drooping and once active flowing energy field slowing to a soft ebb, Ironhide shifts the small form to rest against his warm plating. A pointed look and flick of a finger sends the two scientists scurrying back to their team mates still nattering away, leaving the large mech alone with his charge. This was the forth time Optimus had briefly awoken from recharge. Alpha Trion had told him the hatchling should recharge soundly while his systems put the energon he’d been given to use at least until the transport arrived, but Optimus appeared to be fighting recharge.

 

So far every time he awoke his optics would snap to focus on Ironhide a brief flash of desperation curling through his energies for just a moment before completely relaxing in his guardian’s hold, attention turning to his surrounds or any mecha present. Alpha Trion is at a loss to explain the strange behavior, though is quick to assure him everything would be alright. Nervous tension grips Ironhide’s spark as he begins pacing, his left hand clenching and unclenching. If there is one thing that grates on the warrior’s nerves the most, its being in a situation where the available pool of information is woefully limited and all his brawn, tactical knowledge and firepower are utterly useless.

 

:: _Calm yourself Ironhide. Stressing now will not help the little one or yourself. The transport will be here in a few short breems and Optimus will be properly seen to… Honestly, I never would have picked one such as yourself for the anxious, worrying type._ ::

 

For his attempt at some friendly ribbing all Alpha Trion receives is a derisive snort, but the warrior does stop pacing. Instead he settles for shifting his weight from one ped to the other, cataloging all visible and energy spectrum details of his resting charge.

 

As promised the transport soon comes into sight and all the mechs move to prepare for its arrival. Hardtop comes to stand on Ironhide’s left while Alpha Trion moves near to his right. The entire group watching as the long white craft pulls a slow over head pass. The deep roar of the high speed thrusters dulls to a heady whine as anti-grav plates slide out from under the transports blunt nose and short, backswept wings. Wide bay doors open in the low slung belly of the craft as it levels out barely a meter above the ground several feet from the group. Almost immediately two mechs leap from the open doors, sprinting over to Ironhide’s little group.

 

The larger of the two, a dull white mech with burn orange accents, is the first to reach them slowing to a halt. The glyphs adorning the mech’s helm and shoulders proclaim him to be a relatively high ranking, level 2 medical officer. The mech stands only a head shorter than Ironhide with wide sturdy shoulders and robust legs ideal for carrying patients, and a slender waist ideal for reach and flexibility around medical berths.

 

All 3 mecha stiffen as multiple intrusive broad spectrum medical scans sweep over them with little preamble. Multi lensed blue optics zero in on Ironhide with an icy glare before flicking down to his curled arm. Stalking forward, determination radiating from his field.

 

“Give me that hatchling, now.”

 

The medic barks with sharp authority, hands reaching to take the hatchling from the dark mech.

 

Snarling, Ironhide rears back and twisting to put the bulk of his body between the medic and his charge. Throwing his free out, hand up halting the other mechs approach, he snaps back with equal authority;

 

“Back off an’ identify yourself.”

 

Facial plates crumpling into barely restrained ire the medic taps his forearm bringing up a flat holograph displaying a series of glyphs and data lines detailing his title and credentials.

 

“Level two, emergency flight response medical officer Servo of Tyger Pax central medical centre. Satisfied? Good. You’ve clearly done enough harm as it stands, _warrior_ , and the hatchling needs immediate medical attention. Give it to me immediately!”

 

The medic, Servo, makes a quick side step around the bulk of the black mech making a grabbing shockingly forward grab for the hatchling. Startling, Ironhide strikes out in a combination of instinct and strict defensive training. Wrapping both arms securely around his charge and twisting his torso away from the reaching mech he effortlessly spins on his heel, using his weight and torsion speed to being his free arm out and around in an arc, fist striking the slighter mech square in the upper back as they pass.

 

A surprised squawk rattled from the medic’s vocals as he found himself slammed face first into the dusty ground by the forceful, yet measured blow. His pride far more dented than his plating.

 

“Y-you! How dare you st-“

 

Quickly scrambling to roll over Servo’s indignant screech lodged in his vocalized with an uncomfortable burst of static. The business end of a very large cannon level with his head, its inner barrel growing warm and lit with an ominous glow instantly turning his rage into fear for his very life.

 

“No. How dare _you_ try and take Optimus from me. Tryin’a snatch him from my arms like some stolen toy! What kinda medic are you?”

 

In the ruckus the second smaller pale blue medic has pulled a slender hand gun from within his back, targeting system zeroed in on the dark warrior’s helm.

 

“Warrior, put your weapon away immediately and surrender the hatchling to medic Servo. This weapon contains stun pellets and if you do not comply within the next klik I will take steps to neutralize you as a physical threat to my colleague and the hatchling.”

 

Every mech present freezes in terrified anticipation as the ebony warrior shifts ever so slightly, heavy plating noticeably tightening across his frame. Helm tilting towards the pale blue medic, optics bright pin points within his dark face plates, and derma pulled back to expose his denta. A low frequency rumble emanates from Ironhide, more felt than heard as he stares down the smaller medic. The blue mech holds his ground, though none present can fault the noticeable tremor beginning to work its way through his gangly limbs.

 

“I ain’t no threat to those who don’t deserve it or make stupid aft moves. Optimus is clearly safer with me than either’a you lunatics. If’n either ya try and steal him from me like that again I won’t hesitate to make the next strike neutralize you.”

 

A loud wailing cry abruptly cuts through the tense air making everyone jump. The smaller medic flinches, finger tightening around the trigger as the big warrior suddenly turns to look down to the arm tucked securely against his body. Starting out of his shocked stupor Alpha Trion’s optics snapped to the blue medic, body already lurching forward before he’s actively made the decision to move.

 

“NO! Don’t fire you fool!”

 

Alpha yells charging at the blue medic, roughly slapping the gun away as it fires. The sharp retort the shot shatters the last of the frozen trance of the rest of the mecha present had been in. A scant nano-klik later and all pit breaks loose.

 

The science team mechs scream and flail, scattering like spooked tesla-sects for cover while the warriors howl in rage at the clear attempted attack on one of their own. Only the snappy stand down comm. line order from Hardtop keeps them from setting upon the medics.

 

In the sudden rush Ironhide has turned on the blue medic with an enraged roar, swinging his cannon to bare on the mech preoccupied with disentangling himself from the angry elder scholar. Being mindful of the fragile little body clutched in Ironhide’s opposite arm, Hardtop throws himself at the black warrior.

 

“ _Ironhide_! Stand down soldier! STOP! Everyone stand down!”

 

Hardtop barks, grabbing Ironhide’s cannon arm forcing it down to the ground and twisting it enough to cause a spark of pain. Seeing the big mech distracted Servo spots the fragile hatchling in the once protective crook of the warrior’s arm, now fully exposed. Crouching low he darts forward roughly seizes the hatchling from the enraged mech’s dangerous grasp, intent on running back to the transport as fast as his legs will carry him.

 

Already awake and upset by the sudden movements and waves of uncertainty/fear/anger – danger - alighting through his guardian’s energies, Optimus tries to cling tightly to his guardian’s plating seeking safety. It seems to all happen in an optic to the hatchling. One moment he was upset yet comfortable within the warm embrace of the only form of safety and security he has yet known, the next he is being yanked away. Cold air replacing radiating warmth and a strangers energy field swamping him, trying to forcefully calm him, but only succeeding in frightening him beyond reason. So he turns to the only thing he knows for dealing with the unwanted, he cries at the top of his vocals for his guardian.

 

Stumbling with the suddenly screeching hatchling writhing and clawing at him like an enraged rust-burrower, Servo only managed to get 4 steps away before a large hand clamps down on the back of his neck, thick digits digging deep under plating and into the muscle cables, halting his escape.

 

“RELEASE OPTIMUS NOW!”

 

The loud, booming command cuts across the surrounds causing everyone to still, the cacophony of yells and orders silenced. Optimus continues to wail for his guardian kicking and attempting to bite the medic, as Ironhide tightens his grip on the stunned mechs neck.

 

“Give him back to me right now or I will blast ya fraggin’ head clear off’a ya shoulders. An’ don’t ya think for a moment I’m bluffin’.”

 

Optics blown shock wide, the Servo stiffly tries to look back at the black warrior to find the second canon powered up inches from his head. He can feel the distinct charge prickling across his sensory net from the weapons barrel.

 

“Ironhide… _Don’t_.”

 

Hardtop hisses lowly as he slowly rises from where Ironhide threw him to the ground. Shifting to the side he settles into battle stance, ready to take the equally large mech down at a moments notice.

 

“Release me this instant, warrior. How dare you threaten me and this hatchling! It needs immediate medical attention and I will not stand by and let you endanger its life any–“

 

Squeezing tighter, causing the medic to yelp in pain Ironhide growls deep in his chest each word pointedly pronounced, harmonics flat and sharp as a blade.

 

“I did not hurt him. I would _never, ever_ hurt Optimus. An’ how dare ya even suggest such a thing ya sick fragger. He needs me. Hand him over. _Now_.”

 

“I-I cannot do that. Protocol… protocol dictates your kind cannot be trusted with one this young!”

 

Untangling himself from the securing grip of blue medic Alpha Trion scrambles towards the mechs locked in a stand-off. This mess cannot continue.

 

“Stop everyone please! Stop! Medical Officer Servo, you must understand Ironhide never hurt the hatchling. He was already damaged when this warrior found and rescued him. He reported his find as soon as he could and brought the hatchling, Optimus, back to our camp immediately for care. I do not know the mech personally, but I can say he has been most reasonable and very patient and cooperative though this ordeal.”

 

Pleaded to the shivering – with rage or fear he was unsure, possibly both - medic. Hoping to get some semblance of sense into the well-meaning, yet overzealous mech.

 

“Ironhide no more, please. I know you are very upset, and rightly so, but please don’t do this. If you harm the medic they _will_ take Optimus from you. Don’t give them any more reason to do so. So, please… let the medic go and he will stand down. Won’t you Medical Officer Servo?”

 

Alpha Trion begs, violet optics turning from pleading with the heavy set warrior to a sharp glare, daring the wide opticed medic to disagree.

 

Ironhide gritted his denta as a war raged between his spark and mind. The urge was strong to beat the medic into the ground for daring to speak to him with such accusations and steal away his charge. Teach him a lesson in why his kind were feared and respected. Yet his spark felt like it was going to hammer its way out of its casing with each cry from the hatchling. The sound feeling like sharp daggers wedging into his chest plating, digging deeper and deeper the longer it continued.

 

A particularly shrill wail from the hatchling finally overrides all though of beating on the medc, driving Ironhide to abruptly release his grip on the mechs thick neck. Though he is quick to place a firm hand on their shoulder untrusting of them not try and run again. Haltingly the dull white mech turns, body still tense ready to bolt, holding the squirming and desperately crying hatching in a firm, almost unyielding grip against his body.

 

Coming to face the slightly taller mech Servo at first appears unwilling to give up his hold on the screaming bundle of squirming plates and flailing limbs, but slowly, ever so slowly his grip softens and adjusts to turn the hatchling to face the warrior. Equally slowly reaching out Ironhide extracts the little body carefully from the medic's stiff hands with painstaking care and gentleness belying his hulking form. Catching sight of his guardian renews the hatchlings waning struggles, thin arms reaching out and tiny hands making grabbing motions, unholy shrieking dying down to pitiful, begging chirps.

 

“It’s ok bitlet. I got ya now, Optimus. You’re alright, you’re safe.”

 

Ironhide murmurs, cupping and cradling the quaking little body against his chassis. Almost immediately he is hit with a torrent of panic/terror/confusion as Optimus’ energy field desperately seeks out his. Humming low in his chest Ironhide pushes as much warmth/calm/safe he can muster into his field he hoists the almost weightless body up to rest over his spark, large hands swathing the tiny shivering form almost completely from sight.

 

Tiny fingers scrabble and grab at his armor plates seeking purchase, as small arms and legs clamp tight to Ironhide’s wide chest. Looking down at his charge, he rubs his large thumb gently over the small helm and back carefully monitoring as Optimus slowly calms. Over dilated optics shift back to their normal range, stressed vents gradually stutter down to slower cycles as his over heated body steadily cools. So focused on ensuring his charge is properly calming down and content Ironhide initially doesn’t notice the slight form of Alpha Trion puffing up with indignant rage.

 

Straightening up, shoulders dawn back and optics glowing white hot he turns on the considerably larger, broader medic.

 

“What in the name of the Allspark did you think you were doing?!? Charging in here snatching a hatchling away from his guardian like that! Absolutely disgusting! Unacceptable. Did you not read the data packet I attached to Hardtops emergency message?”

 

Gaping the larger white medic’s jaw works to in an attempt at a defense, but Alpha Trion cuts him off, harmonics loud and razor sharp. His field billowing out practically hammering against the medic's displaying his sense of outrage and disgust.

 

“Clearly not! If you had, you would have easily noted the mingling of the warrior and hatchlings fields on your first sensory sweep. _None_ of this should have happened! Answer me is this class 2 _medic_. Do you go charging into every emergency situation concerning hatchlings with guns waving, threats and accusations spilling from your vocals and snatching the little ones way from their guardians without explanation or _proper fore warning_! Do you?”

 

Alpha barked, pushing up into the heavier mechs space driving them to take a reluctant step back.

 

“Or is it only when a warrior type is involved? Hm? You are a medic. You are above such ridiculous prejudice and quick judgments. Or you _should_ be. Because of that prejudice and snap judgement without consulting information given you have caused more harm and undue stress in a matter of kliks than I have ever seen any trained warrior commit in the most heated of dangerous life and death situations.”

 

All the mechs present watch on with rising amusement as the scholar thoroughly tears down the considerably larger and heavier set medic, the high tension in the air gradually easing. Despite his lack of size and power compared to the object of his ire, Alpha Trion paints the perfect image of a mech not to be trifled with. Ornate amethyst and gold shoulder and back plates noticeably flatten and angled forwards, violet optics glowing bright, almost white in their intensity, and energy field forcefully invading the larger mechs clearly driving home his incensed rage at the mechs offensive behavior.

 

“And never in my long vorns have I seen such blatant disregard for the safety of a newborn. The way you tore Optimus away from his guardian was sickening, utterly disgraceful. You could have seriously damaged him, yet you throw blame for harm so freely towards a mech who has done nothing but go against everything he knows to ensure the hatchlings safety and care. Know this, I will be talking with your superiors when this is all done. Do not be surprised if you find your rank and station revoked for such a grievous failure in your duty of care.”

 

Sputtering in shock and humiliated outraged the medic tries again and again to put up a defense, but the small scholar makes it exceedingly clear he will not hear his excuses.

 

“And _you_!”

 

Rounding on the smaller pale blue medic, Alpha stabs and accusing finger at the startled mech.

 

“You aimed a weapon with paralyzing pellets at a _mech’s helm_ while he was carrying a hatchling! A new born hatchling! Of all the open places you could have targeted to incapacitate him safely, you targeted his helm! He could have suffered a motor spasm and hurt the hatchling or worse, lost motor function and fallen crushing the hatchling to death. Were you _trying_ to be a completely incompetent fool or is this how you operate? You both utterly _disgust_ me and make me question the quality of your training.”

 

Shunting a huge gush of atmosphere through his vents Alpha goes from mech on a war path, back to his usual serene self in a blink of an optic. Tightly flattened plating relaxing back to their usual position and the static buzzing air around him smoothing.

 

“I have noted your failures and incompetence in this incident and I will be personally informing your superiors of your actions. Now, we have a newborn hatchling in need of medical attention. I will be accompanying Ironhide and his charge back to Tyger Pax since I have all the data that will be needed on the hatchling from when he was first presented to now and I don't feel particularly comfortable leaving them in your care without a secondary documenting witness to all events that will transpire. Ironhide, shall we go?”

 

Gesturing for Ironhide to follow him, Alpha Trion calmly strides to the transport as if the tense fight and his spitting tirade hadn’t happened. Ironhide follows the request in silence, barely managing to contain the smug smile that wants to break across his features.

 

 _I think I like him_ , Ironhide muses following after the diminutive scholar. Throwing a quick glance back at the still sputtering white medic as he stands mortified and practically glowing with embarrassment and anger Ironhide feels some measure of justice has been metered out. Not quite the way he would have handled it - there would have been more fists involved if he had his way - but still a mildly satisfactory result none the less.

 

Climbing into the transport and setting himself down on a bench next to the Trion, Ironhide looks over at the elder mech with new respect.

 

:: _I uh_ … _Thank ya. For all ya did back there… I don’t think… I don’t think I could'a kept it together any longer if ya hadn’t stepped in._ ::

 

:: _You are welcome warrior, but please do not mention it… In all seriousness please don’t. If such knowledge got out of me behaving in such an unbecoming manner… well…_ ::

 

Barking a small laugh, Ironhide adjusts his grip on the little hatchling still clinging tightly to his chassis, but now settled back into exhausted, fitful recharge. Giving the other a light pat on the shoulder Ironhide leans in a little closer as the two medics finally climb onboard.

 

“I won’t, but can’t speak for the rest of ‘em.”

 

Ironhide subtly gestures to the small crowd of warriors and scientists standing outside the transport sporting varying looks of amusement and shock. Theta Trion standing amongst them looking thoroughly appalled. The look on the purple Trion’s long, angular face as the mortifying realization slowly dawns on him is another little memento Ironhide stores away for the vorns to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've now taken over using Bumblebee (aka crappy lappy) for my writing so may be getting more stuff done more regularly provided my motivation holds out and my brain behaves for a while.


	5. Chapter 5

After the huge debacle with the arrival of the emergency evac transport and the over zealous actions of the two medics, things have settled into something of a more amiable state. The dull white and burnt orange medic, Servo, his colleague and medic in training, Highline, have apologized for their actions, albeit in a rather round about and convoluted manner. Alpha Trion is mildly satisfied with this though he reminded to two it didn’t remotely make up for their actions, but Ironhide still remains wary of the two.

He’s never been all that trusting of medics to begin with. A few notably bad experiences in his early vorns will do that to a mech. Though mistrust was too simple a word for what Ironhide felt towards these medics, Servo in particular. He was steadfastly refusing to allow Servo near Optimus again during take-off. It took a lot of cajoling and reminders of the hatchlings needs verse his desires on Alpha Trion’s part, and a spark sworn promise to do no more touching and handling than necessary with Optimus for him to begrudgingly give in.

Painstakingly prying skinny little fingers from his armor gaps and shifting the limp recharging form into his lap, Ironhide doesn’t take his sharp optics off the white medic for a split-klik. Moving closer, but remaining mindful of the dark mech’s volatile energy field, Servo runs multiple deep level scans over the hatchling. The collected data categorized, prioritized and referenced at blinding speeds within the white mech’s augmented processor. Tapered sensor laden fingers trace over the soft plating, carefully examining the slowly repairing scratches and dents concentrated mostly on the extremities and chest before moving to better examine the damaged arm.

“I will admit, the arm isn’t as badly damaged as I first surmised. All injuries so far appear consistent with the report supplied with the amount of metal dust ground into the scratches and joints. Further investigation will be required as is the protocol with any injuries to hatchlings, especially with no further corroborating evidence regarding the cause of injury at this point aside from your report and the with it. Apart from the damage and a case of sever mineral deficient he is relatively healthy for a new born.”

Each word is spoken with a clinical detachment, the medic actively avoiding optic contact with the big warrior, instead addressing his diagnosis to Alpha Trion. The ebony mech merely stares at the medic, optics and face neutral, though his tightly held energy field is seething. It rankles him deeper than he would like to show the complete dismissal of his presence and position as Optimus’ guardian. A strong want to snap at the medic bubbles within his spark; remind him who this hatchling’s guardian is and to address him as such, though a brief touch against his energies from Alpha stills his vocals. The elder’s field flutters against his with a soft lit of calm/relax/control.

Shunting a quiet ex-vent, Ironhide allows his shoulders to slump and leans back against the bulkhead making himself comfortable and staring at rankling medic with flat neutrality. All the while a running a mantra of; stay calm, don’t rise to any bait real or imagined, don’t satisfy them by getting angry again, focus on Optimus, runs in loops in his processor. He wouldn’t give this mech any more to use against him.

:: _Servo, I appreciate your keeping me abreast of the hatchling’s status, but I am not his guardian. Ironhide is, by bond. From now on you will address him with all further reports and treat him with the common curtesy afforded to all mecha currently under or associated with one under medical care. Save whatever grievances you have against his kind for private affairs and keep them out of the work environment, especially when there is the life and care of a fragile hatchling at stake. Bear in mind I have not stopped monitoring and collecting data for my final report on this situation._ ::

Alpha Trion sits with an air of ease and calm as he sends the biting private comm. message. For his part Servo barely twitches, but Alpha can pickup on the prickling, agitated shift in his field.

“The scratches and dents will heal in approximately 2-3 orns with a boost of essential minerals and repair nanites. With some binding to help straighten the plates the arm should heal within 6 orns. It will take me a few breems to make the mineral solution. Highline will see to the arm in the meantime.”

With that the white medic stiffly moves off as his colleague, Highline, steps in with a roll of flexible binding tape a collection of cloths and cleaning solvents in hand. Slowly crouching down before the large warrior, nervousness radiating from him in palpable waves, he waits for Ironhide to acknowledge his presence. Ironhide barely acknowledges the smaller medic as he glares after the retreating back of Servo as he disappears into an adjoining room.

“Um… Ironhide, sir?”

Highline prompts, vocals pitched high with nerves and wide lime green optics hesitantly flicking from Ironhide to Alpha Trion. A light touch on Ironhide’s arm abruptly breaks his focus on monitoring where the white and burn orange mech was. Motioning to the smaller medic crouching at his peds, Ironhide blinked raising an optic ridge in question.

“The… the hatchling will need to be cleaned before I apply the binding. Any debris under it will cause irritation during healing.”

Ironhide simply grunts in acknowledgement and waits. Blinking Highline glances to Alpha then back to the big mech.

“He needs to be cleaned… do you… um… would you…”

Gesturing to Optimus, the small mech shifts nervously very slowly holding out the cleaning cloths and solvent to the warrior. What ever bravado the young mech once had seems to have faded now he is ‘alone’ with the large, heavily armed, clearly irritated warrior.

Optics flicking Ironhide stares back wondering what the mech was carrying on about.

“I believe he is asking if you would like to be shown how to handle and clean the little one properly Ironhide.”

Alpha supplies helpfully, giving the large mech a reassuring smile while his energy field near glows with amusement.

“Oh ah, yeah…right.”

Alpha barely contains the small laugh that wants to escape him seeing the large mech caught off guard.

Feeling Ironhide’s fields soften and expand a little, loosing the volatile edge, Highline shifts onto his knees pouring some of the almost clear solvent onto one of the cloths. Handing the cloth over to Ironhide, Highline verbally guides him though handling Optimus’ fragile frame as he begins carefully cleaning away the filth layering his frame. Now and again the blue medic demonstrates on himself how to clean under the edges of delicate plating, exposed joints and cabling.

For all the rough handling Optimus is slow to immerge from recharge only fully waking to protest having his chest, face and helm cleaned. His small body twists, knees coming up and head turning from side to side as tiny hands grab and pull at the wash cloth Ironhide is scrubbing over his face. Alpha laughs quietly at the antics as the last remnants of the dried energon, nutrient gel, dust and grit are cleaned away from soft plating revealing the natural gunmetal grey underneath.

“Now that’s done I can bind his arm. This will need to be removed in 6 orns to prevent any pressure related retardation in the growth of the plating. I will need to move him. May I?”

Highline asks, hands hovering near the hatchling, but not daring to touch. Receiving a nod, he carefully lifts Optimus’, rolling the hatchling onto his front for easier access and manipulation of the damaged arm. Aside from some displeased sharp chirps from the drowsy hatchling he doesn’t put up much of a fight.

“It’s alright, little one. Rest now, that’s it. Good little bitlet.”

The medic coos, smoothing a gentle caress over the hatchlings helm and back. Once the hatchling settles again he begins using a fine little metal toothed brush to clean out the imbedded dust and debris under the plates and in the strain damaged joints that was missed in the initial cleaning.

"Hmm, it appears he must have fallen and got it caught in something to cause this much debris to be ground into the joints and the plating to be almost peeled back from the support structures like this. Thankfully I can't find any broken lines or wires so there shouldn't be any weakness in the arm once healed."

Highline muses as he works, beginning on wrapping the arm with the tape as he makes notes to add to the report file and medical history.

Feeling somewhat more relaxed Ironhide fully slumps back against the wall and watches the medic’s skilled hands making short work of the task. Nimble, spidery fingers gently hold, press and wrap the pliable tape at just the right thickness and pressure around the thin arm putting the warped plating to rights. Rubbing his thumb along the back of the small helm cupped in his large palm Ironhide feels his over tensed muscle cables loosening. With a small wriggle Optimus’ shifts closer to the heat radiating from the much larger chassis, his fields at their most even and calm flow yet.

Finishing up and sealing off the tape, the small blue medic sits back on his haunches collecting the now filthy wash cloths and other discarded items. He can’t help but take this quiet moment to observe the warrior and the hatchling for himself. Taking his own subtle readings on the hatchling and his chosen guardian, he notes with curiosity how strong the hatchlings energy field is reading and how well it interacts with the warriors.

Picking up on the light scans and noticing Highline glancing between himself and Optimus with some apprehension Ironhide shifts slightly, head tilting to one side in silent question. It is obvious in the mech’s posture and fidgeting that he wants to say something, but is wary of voicing it.

“What?”

The deep rumble laced with mild annoyance from the black mech makes the small blue medic flinch. Sitting back on his haunches the small mech nervously rolls his shoulders, glancing around a moment before finding his vocalizer.

“Well ah… You certainly have created a strong bond in such an amazingly short time. Your energy fields settled together so easily. And I have honestly yet to come across another hatchling this young with such a strong, distinctive spark pulse.”

Noticing the light of confusion in the large warrior’s optics, Highline hastily continues.

“It’s not a bad thing, no. Quite the opposite. His spark is in very good health considering the condition of his frame, where and how he was found. It is just that I would expect this more from a hatchling at least 10 maybe 15 orns or so in age. It normally takes at least that long for the body and spark to fully integrate and mediate energy flow outside the gestation pod… All I can put it down to is that although he was only born very recently, he has been physically ready for quiet some time. Which I guess could explain his mineral deficiency. Nutrient gel is only supposed to supply the needed elements and energon for the nanite colonies to create the body around the spark up till the hatchling is developed enough to survive outside the pod. All this could also explain why he is a little larger than I'd normally expect…”

Finally noticing not only Ironhide and Alpha Trion but the hatchling staring at him, Highline silences himself with an awkward stuttering click. Long, slender fingers curl and twist together in a nervous gesture as the medic apologies.

“Please excuse me. I tend to get a little carried away at times… uh… As Servo said a mineral solution will help the hatchling -”

“Optimus.”

The low rumble makes the small blue mech visibly pause. Wide green optics flick between Ironhide and Alpha Trion as the mech hurriedly corrects himself to placate the intimidating warrior.

“Optimus, yes, it will help with the healing of his arm and the minor plate damage. It should be ready soon. I’ll… um…. I’ll just dispose of all this and check in with Servo…”

Pausing, the pale blue medic fiddles with the soiled cloths and supplies optics shuttered. With a deep in and ex-vent he lifts his large green optics to the dark warrior, field radiating regret and shame.

“I… I’d like to apologize for my actions, earlier. I was under orders from Servo, my superior and… and I… no… No excuses. It was truly unbecoming of a medic and my actions were unforgivable no matter the orders of my superior medic. I should have… I…”

Ducking his helm the pale blue medic hastily disappear into a small alcove. Sighing, Ironhide turns his attention back to the hatching cradled in his loosely folded arms. Whether he would accept the apology wasn’t sure just yet and for now all he cared about was that Optimus was safe and well in his arms.

Gently lifting and rolling his charge to tuck them against his body, earning a happy little churr, he slips back into his quiet brooding, thumb continuing to absently brush soft strokes over the back of the thinly plated helm. All he can think about now is their return to Tyger Pax. He is not looking forward to it, especially if what he had encounter recently was the kind of reception he could expect to receive. One couldn’t just suddenly appear with a newborn hatchling, especially one with no sparking record or birth registration, without questions being asked. Particularly for a mech of his station.

There was a reason warrior class mechs were never even allowed to apply for guardianship. Trained to fight, encourage to be brutal and violent, and augmented with heavy weapons and tactical programming for the purposes of defense, both military and some levels of law enforcement of their city and planet. The number of hatchlings that survived from sparking to hatching was already low thanks to a range of issues including simple failure of the spark or hatchling itself to thrive and grow, development faults, spark code mutations, viruses and more, the last thing the ruling city councils and nursery coordinators would want is to hand the extremely fragile lives of the next generation over to walking armories.

“Ahem, excuse me, Ironhide?”

Starting out of his musings the dark warrior glances up to find Highline and Servo standing in front of him, the latter a good step behind the smaller medic. Optics flicking to Highline’s he notices a small syringe-like tool resting in the pale blue medics outstretched hands. A quick scan shows it half filled with a mix of energon, repair nanites and various powdered minerals and other additives.

“Optimus needs to intake this orally to be properly processed through his systems. It would be best if I administered this, but would you please hold him? He trusts you and will be less likely to reject it or become stressed.”

Gently rolling the dozing hatchling over and lifting him to sit up Ironhide is met with a frustrated little growl. A soft laugh rattles deep within Ironhide’s chest at the sight of fine facial plating scrunch up in an amusing display of annoyance at being disturbed yet again.

Highline crouches next to Ironhide’s hip, shifting the small syringe in his spindly fingers for the proper grip. Servo remains standing watching and noting every move with sharp critical optics. Propping the small frame in the crook of his arm, Ironhide can’t help but flick his gaze to the white and orange medic.

Every line of the mech’s posture, although relaxed to the average optic, screams tightly wound tension and ill ease to Ironhide. Burnt orange fingers grip at wide hip plates and narrowed blue optics glow over bright. Directing a very clear warning glare at the tense medic, Ironhide returns all his attention back to the task at hand.

“Sorry bitlet, I know you’re tired. It’s alright, ya can rest all ya want once you have ya medicine.”

Ironhide murmurs softly in hopes of calming the growing apprehension he’s feeling through Optimus’ fields. Maneuvering forward at a deliberately careful, slow pace Highline holds the tapered blunt tip of the syringe just over tiny mouth plates. Optimus immediately attempts to rear back and turn his head away. Optics shuttering tightly as instincts drive him to keep the foreign object away from his easily damaged facial plating and optics. Small hands fling out in a blind defensive move, bumping into the syringe they weakly grip and attempt to push it away.

“Hey, hey it’s alright. Come on now, this is for ya own good. Open up. It won’t hurt, I promise.”

Sending rolls of encouragement through his energy field Ironhide rubs his fingers over the thin chest and abdominal plating as Highline carefully holds the little one’s chin and nudges the syringe tip against closed lip plates.

Slowly golden optics open and go from starting near cross eyed at the ‘thing’ pressed so close to his face up to the warm blue optics of his guardian. The comfort provided by his guardian’s fields, the encouragement in their optics and the warmth from their body quickly wins over Optimus’ weary processor. He’s simply too tired to put up a fight anymore, allowing his lip plates and denta to be nudged open.

“Good. Very good little one.”

Highline coos, fingers gently cupping the hatchlings chin as he slowly presses down on the syringe plunger. Optimus jumps as the first drizzles of the thick energon mix strike the back of his intake. Once the sensors lining the upper and lower plates of his inner mouth registered the liquid as safe and something his systems have been desperately craving the partitions blocking his intake tubing opens. All 4 mechs watch as the hatchling eagerly takes down all the energon offered. Little fingers going from trying to push the syringe away to actively grasping it, almost tugging it out of Highline’s soft grip. Once empty Highline gently withdrawing the now empty syringe from lax little hands and smiles as the little one rolls to curl up against his guardian’s lower chest, rapidly slipping back into their earlier disturbed recharge.

“He will need a dose of that mixture - minus the repair nanties - once an orn for at least 23 orns to make sure his protoform thickens and solidifies, and that his frame has enough stored metals to ensure his outer armor develops correctly. We have already added this into his file. You should be supplied with the required amount with instructions at the medical centre.”

Highline states, harmonics settled and warm as his fingers graze lightly over a jutting thin plates of a little shoulder before he leans back to stand. Turning to his superior the smaller mech is quick to wipe the smile from his features, lowering his helm and silently scuttling off to his duties elsewhere in the shuttle.

Eyeing the dark warrior a moment longer, Servo excuses himself moving off to the shuttles cockpit. Glaring after the retreating back of the mech who has sorely spiked his ire, Ironhide is suddenly less inclined to simply flatten the mech. He feels strangely tranquil and content in himself now his charge is settled, happy and out of danger.

Just the thought of the effects the little hatchling is already having on him disturbs him a little. Especially now that he thinks about how much has changed in such an extremely short period of time. Before now if a mech had looked at him once the way Servo had, he wouldn’t have hesitated in getting up close and personal with them. And if someone had handed him a hatchling he would have stood there stiff as a board, holding it as far away from him as possible, impatiently waiting for them to take the thing back. Now here he sits, a tiny hatchling tucked carefully and content in his enormous arms, exceedingly reluctant to let it go any time soon.

The other instructors and students at the training facility were going to have a field day with this. He knew it.

Several breems quietly pass as Ironhide watches Optimus recharge nestled in the crook of his arm. Slowly becoming aware of the hollow silence outside the barely audible hum of the ships engines Ironhide looks over at his traveling companion, honestly observing the mech for the first time.

Despite his diminutive size and relatively thin and ornately structured plating, nothing like his own dense armor, Alpha Trion radiates a sense of deep knowledge and eternal patience. Outside such base observations Ironhide realizes he barely knows the mech he tentatively feels he can now call friend.

The dark mech has never been one for idle conversation. So far the two had only spoken in a more or less question and answer format. The warrior supplying the questions, mostly focused around his new lot in life, and the elder scholar patiently giving what answers or reassurances he could. They had yet to have what could be called a true conversation.

Ironhide shifts in what could be taken as a sign of nervousness. Cobalt optics flitting about aimlessly as he mulls over how to start a conversation with the other mech and exactly what they could possibly discuss. The more he thinks about it the larger the chasm between them seems to grow.

From what he has gleaned in their general talks it was apparent that they are vastly different in not only their personalities, but also their backgrounds and professions. Ironhide delights in construction and testing of new weapons and munitions, sparing with his friends, mock battles and training the next generation of soldiers and law enforcers. His orn isn’t complete without at least one session on the firing range. The residual heat and electricity tickling though the struts and cabling of his arms after a good round always left him feeling centered and at ease. He highly doubts military tactics or weapons would remotely interest the small scholar.

“I have mentioned my being a guardian once, correct?”

Alpha Trion’s abrupt question snaps the large mech out of his musing. Crested helm tilting Ironhide slowly nods optics searching the others features for clues to the source of the sudden question.

“Ah yes. He came into my care after a very close friend of mine, Psi Trion, was lost in a, ah, diplomatic misunderstanding in early relations with the small planet Idiosareem Six.”

Ironhide blinks, staring down at the small mech, before shunting a stiff rush of atmosphere through his vents.

“Ya mean the complete screw up where a known organa-phobe guardsmech was sent with the diplomatic liaisons to a planet of sentient organics, flipped his processor when they were mobbed by excited locals and discharged his weapons into the crowd killing 436 civilians and drivin' their soldiers to react in kind. That the ‘diplomatic misunderstandin’ ya talkin’ bout?”

It is now Alpha’s turn to blink back at the larger mech in surprise. Facial plates quickly dropping into a neutral set, field exuding a clearly un-amused buzz Alpha Trion continues on unimpeded.

“Yes, that incident. Psi Trion was amongst the group of diplomats acting as representatives on that mission. He was unfortunately caught in the cross fire before order could be restored, his kind spark rejoining to the Allspark far too soon. After the loss, his long term partner and guardsmech Cobalt was found to be unfit as sole guardian for the 5 vorn old youngling in their care. The poor mech became quite… unwell in his grief after the loss of Psi.

Being that I was well acquainted with the youngling and that he was already comfortable with my presence I was found to be suitable for guardianship and he was transferred into my care. Thankfully he was too young to properly comprehend death and readily accepted my explanation for why Psi Trion had not returned home and why Cobalt would no longer be his co-guardian, but would still visit when he could.”

Leaning forward a little Alpha ran a fine silver finger down Optimus curled leg as he continued on.

“He was a bright little spark, but had a short temper and rebellious streak. Constantly acting out and getting himself into all manner of trouble at home or in the educational centre. Do not take this wrong. He was a wonderful youngling, very intelligent, loyal and caring, though a little idealistic. I believe his little temper tantrums and rebellions were a combination of spark deep upset from the loss of the connection he once had with the first mech’s he bonded with, and attention seeking since he found himself with only one guardian where he had been accustom to having two. Thus always having someone to pay attention to him. He eventually grew out of it, but still retains that sharp, acerbic glossa and quick temper despite my best efforts.”

A wistful expression falls over the elder mech’s features as he continues to regale Ironhide with his experiences while watching the hatchling in his arms rest. Leaving very little out Alpha tells him of the vorns of ups and downs, the good times and bad that came with dealing with a developing individual, as the youngling rapidly grew into a large, powerful aerial mech he knows Psi would have been pleased with. Cobalt was certainly exceedingly proud despite his limited interactions.

“He is a young adult now, training in the military academy in Vos he worked his spark out to gain acceptance into. Just recently I received word from him informing me of his transfer to Kaon’s main military compound. Selected to be trained as part of the new deep space tactical unit, he said. Oh, how proud and happy he was to have his ground and aerial prowess recognized. He can be arrogant and a little overconfident at times, but I cannot deny the great pride I hold knowing that everything he has labored so hard for is gradually coming to fruition.”

“Hm… Never would have guessed ya for one to be happy to have the younglin’ you raised join the military.”

Ironhide prods, vocals laced with an amused lit. The little scholar had made it most clear early on in their meeting for the expedition that he is quiet leery of military based warrior types and the city states military in general, his little tale only solidifying that dislike, but grudging acceptance of their necessity.

“Oh, no. I have never wholly approved of the military and their heavy handed tactics. No offence meant to you, and I hold no prejudice against warriors in general. For you are a very needed and respected group in yourselves. In truth I cannot deny that I am proud of his achievements and it does poor Cobalt’s weary spark some good to know the hatchling he cared for has the potential to go even further than he did. Despite this, it is sadly something we fought over many a time. I had great hopes for him within the diplomatic circles with his quick wit, steadfast will and brilliant processor, but one cannot deny what the spark desires. His is that of a warrior meant for protecting our people and reaching to the stars and beyond, and that is what his is achieving.”

Thinking over everything for a moment Ironhide compiles the description Alpha Trion provided of his charge. The mech does sound familiar, but having started off basic training with so many over confident, little upstart younglings over the vorns, he can’t be sure he is thinking of the right mech.

“Does he still go by the designation ya used? He sounds mildly familiar, but that name doesn’t trigger any recall.”

Slender fingers run down his long, pointed chin as Alpha’s facial plates scrunch slightly in thought.

“Sadly, no he never approved of that designation. Constantly stating it was weak and improper for a true warrior of the stature he would attain. Such nonsense. He has always preferred to be referred to by his original designation, the one Psi Trion and Cobalt gave him. Megatron.”

Ironhide huffed a small laugh at that. Yes, that was the little upstart he was thinking of; never responding to his given designation always correcting anyone who got it wrong with spitting verbal vitriol if they persisted with the incorrect name. He was top of his class with great potential and he knew it. The ego that one had on him, by the Allspark, Ironhide was sure his head would pop one day from the sheer size of it. Ironhide was more than happy to hand that one off to the mechs in Vos when he was selected.

The droning voice of the pilot abruptly cuts through the internal speakers.

“We have arrived in Tyger Pax air space. We should be landing at the main medical centre in approximately 10 breems. All non-staff please remain seated until further instructions.”

Glancing at one another neither mech realized how much time has passed as they had talked. Shifting Ironhide mentally steeled himself for what was to come.


	6. AUTHOR UPDATE (not a chapter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a note to let everyone know what's up, not an actual chapter.

Basically my laptop threw a massive hissy fit with my profile out of no where a few weeks back. Still have no idea what caused it and we couldn't fix it so that required the nuke option.

Now here's where the problem comes in. The day it threw its fit over my profile was the day I was doing a back up to our new PC. I thought the back up had worked and after a few days of trial and error to fix my profile it was decided to just nuke it and restart. Unfortunately I'd find out too late only OLD copies of my files had made the transfer before things went nuts. All the newer files either didn't make it or were complete gibberish and the nuking of my profile meant EVERYTHING I'd had there was deleted... so yeah not a happy chappy. Thankfully I still know where I was at and what I was doing and can just copy down what I have here, but yeah... not fun.

On top of that I've been really unwell of late. My old problems coming back full force killing my energy. So once again my updates are going to be horribly sporadic until I get to see a specialist in August.

So, sorry about the delays. I hope to be back on track soon.


End file.
